A sea of students’ crash into the newly found hall
It is cold, the wind to make them feel alive dies before it reaches them
Silence is their wind, leaving them gasping for echoes of music
They have exteriors of crafted statues
Yet magnify yourself through their eyes
And see their nerves brighten, engaged in a game of twister
They are collected, models strutting inside as though the runway awaited them
It does not; instead, their fate lies neatly in front of them, coiled up in a stack of paper
A tear forms, a prayer from cringed teeth, an ounce of hope from the sad day and a wish that a distant sky doesn’t answer
“Begin”, I announce forming symphony into sympathy
Pencils bloom like flowers in spring, yet colorless pales of grey on the verge of extension if their luck is lost among the desperate pleas
An eruption of scratches and cries, eyes scanning desperately trying to find answers, is all I see
Their heart races over earthquake hurdles of traps
Some remember nothing and their hearts bleed as they lose themselves within the lines of words
Three hours they circle around death’s questions
Sacrificing parts of their souls for each and sometimes omitting what’s left
In the heat of battle their bodies allow no surrenders
They are soldiers on a march
Guns blazing and fights punching till I say “Stop”
Only then does their armor fade and the war is won... for some
For others the war has just begun even though a grave awaits for all
But lonely death is worth the small envelope the get in return
One to touch their black hearts and turn it red, pure and beating