LostGate B10, as discordant as Wall Street.
Everyone moving frantically,
like the apocalypse is near.
But here I stand,
lost like a compass without its magnet.
No direction, no purpose.
As she departs,
the loudspeakers pierce
“Flight 1777 is now boarding.”
[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2013 EDITION]
Copyright © 2002-2011 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2011 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission.