The Umbrella Trilogy
Part I
The atmosphere signals our core.
Weather is but a prophecy, a fortune, perhaps a crime of nature.
My vision once met the sun, towards your direction.
I noticed, I thought, and I ran for your heart
unaware of the downpour that soon would come to make me slip and tremble.
The humidity lifted my courage.
The humidity slung my umbrella around my back unused.
It never saw a drop.
No doubts, just music, and hope.
The only fear that stood was the star shining too bold.
Too blinding.
Too frequent.
The eighth month would glow red,
It would shock, and show my mind all that I aspire to be.
The red was not murder. It was birth.
The glow; never a harbinger of thunder.
I simply and easily drifted into the powerful hue.
I stayed there in bliss,
The feeling something I had forgotten to miss.
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Part II- The Umbrella Trilogy
Far too happy for suspicion,
a drizzle of precipitation fell before my feet.
The pavement was greedy and thirsty.
It was only coincidence how the clouds would turn ashen.
Nothing more than a change in season, a cold front.
Convince.
The umbrella, my shield, would release its anticipation.
This only served as an opportunity for us to be underneath the pitter-patter.
We stood close together,
so close for comfort,
but like a tornado he swirled his way in between the light.
I witnessed the glances.
The way he stared, and your vision glazed back.
Convince.
I thought nothing,
Never to be bothered with such thoughts.
Somehow the world turned colder, yet my cauldron would boil.
My recipe for disaster brewed,
my potion of mistrust,
but just as any descendent of the dark
it took form of something beautiful.
To deceive, it took the shape of love.
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Part III- The Umbrella Trilogy
The rain used to suggest the worst to come
and now the rain is real.
My sunken eyes seep into the back of my mind
until they witness the world behind me.
The view becomes smaller and dissipates as my legs take each step.
I walk away from all I wish to forget.
I’ve forgotten how to learn it seems.
I ask:
Were these eyes always drowning in my head?
Were these eyes consistently watching for the next to release my hand,
to pick up the dagger?
These sunken eyes tamper. They give the appearance of exhaustion.
They are the characters playing the roles that could never be explained by the tongue.
I am parallel, no longer human, yet I am no entity or spirit.
Am I the walking dead whose limbs rust, and whose skin hangs over her bones?
I cannot be the thing I feel, for emotions with these sunken eyes are all emotions that still arrive.
Better off dead, yet still alive I hold my umbrella to the sky.
They fall together as I fall apart.
<strong>Elizabeth Klammer
Age 15, Grade 10,
Fiorello H Laguardia High School of Music
Silver Key</strong>