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by Eva Ury


Fingers close never-endingly on emptiness
pushing and swaying towards the light
that touches the light that is.

I send thoughts towards the is
but its harsh rejection breaks me.

Scrawny speeches appease the mind,
and the soul is left unfinished.

Second changes seem dandy,
though runnable hallways
will always haunt me.

At least warmth exists in the doorways
pushing me on my path
to an utterly ordinary life.

Author Biography: Eva Ury is a junior in high school. Normally she attends The Masters School in Dobbs Ferry, NY but this year she is living and studying abroad in Viterbo, Italy. There she is immersing herself in Italian language, culture, art, architecture and gelato. She is addicted to reading and writing deep into the wee hours of the night and hopes one day to find work doing just that.