February 14, 2010
By , Azusa, CA
These birds sing sweetly to a cold sun,
Gratefully I listen as I shiver and patiently wait, alone and still.
The smiles are worth it as they eagerly chatter when I step in,
And they stir my mind and my tongue just in time for school.
These poor, empty halls are rich in long forgotten memoirs:
A story shared here, a first kiss shyly given there, laughter found in every locker.
This hand, which touches the walls, touches their past;
And I know them, these nameless (and faceless) ghosts who haunt the day.
I follow their footsteps, and I become strong in knowing what we share.

This voice who rises and joins its sisters until
They are like a flowing river; the notes are its currents.
These steps are so small, so delicate, yet so strong and momentous.
And these girls transform as they sing their love, their anger, their tears,
And learn until they become young women in those years shortened to minutes.

This flag who paints a joyful air,
Those sabres who dance across the worn out floor,
These rifles that spin and fly in this stand-still moment,
Are moved by the music that binds us into a team, and our steps are at last in tune; Independent, yet dependent on each other to tell the story: ours.
We will show them that we broke down those walls and show them that
These people, colorful and unique, have painted our own picture of success.

These final steps of this road are hundreds of years old,
Yet they are weapons strong enough to defend myself:
These strikes, which stuns, and kicks, which brings my enemies down,
And finally these eyes, who have learned to be aware, finally see
Those many steps that I have taken in every journey.
These empty roads I have not yet traveled, are waiting for me to take new steps
In my dreams as I drift off into sleep, and still beckon to me the next morning.
Every step you take carries a memory, a lesson, and a reverie,
Those steps are irrelevant only to those who refuse to walk.

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