Author: Hazel J. Hall
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Somewhere, Out There
habitual days and days when nothing is new in the way it once was beneath some warm sun, interstellar more than I will ever know this direction, this path, these places feel aimless in their brevity.it is days like these when it is all infinintely more finite than me. fleeting. And cruel. perhaps I have…
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At Fourteen
Entering high school feels like a distant moment now. But, as if my clock were ticking backwards, I’ve recently been looking back on my life instead of moving forward. Instead all of my energy going towards the person that I could be, I am stuck at the age of fourteen, back when I was confused…
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The Cost of Living is a Dead Man’s Truth
As the stage of modern history shifts to become one filled with chaos and confusion, marred by violence and a normalization to death, pain, and tragedy, evolution is necessary. Humans, if nothing else, are miraculous in our chameleon tendencies: hiding and hoping that something, some light, will survive. But now, through years of a global…
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Raging Now
Thunder and lightning, storm drain surging, could’vefollowed it all the way downunder waves where it’s quiet. Burning, billowing,festering flames. Smoke dying down.So that’s this feeling? Spiraling away,wishing I could have had a different story. Lightning, a flash, then a crack,a spell of dark magic, saying, Let’s keep digging;I want to meet the ground six feet under. …
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LOVE,
If you must ever go, enter my life gently. Transcendant forever. Crossing walls, wishing they weren’t real. Weren’t felt by us. Our friendship. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know. If it wasn’t ours, it could never end; never begin. Beautiful, while fleeting but terrifying while uninsured. Have I graced you as you have me? The…
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at dawn
we sit on the docks waves pushing and pulling against the pier coming and going as we lose all our days tomorrows and todays years and years lead us here, all testament to our loneliness craze. Poetry and photography by Hazel J. Hall.
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The Brown-headed Cowbird
A female brown-headed cowbird will lay her eggs in another nest, hoping they will be taken care of. Not enough food to go around,one too many screaming, screeching heads. Of young nestling beaks, still opening wide, never satisfied. The mother bluebird hunts twice as much, twice as hard. She is always tired when she comes…