A Wrench to the Heart by Liam Quan (17, South Carolina)

Silent screams with a mouth shut tight,
Flashing sirens wail with no light,
Empty weeping, cheeks run dry,
A raised hand in the absence of sky;
I stretch out my fingers to the mobile of stars,
Alas, my arms cannot travel that far.

---

Pacing around my prison cell:
My journey’s cage and mind’s high hell,
I spend the day with a face of stone,
Surrounded by statues of mirrors alone.
I sing with echoes a song of slow slumber
As I close my eyes to whispers of thunder.

Awake, I walk the rose garden’s paths,
Pricking my finger on each thorn’s wrath,
Testing to see which one hurts the least;
Testing to see which one keeps the peace.
In the garden, I weep, muffled by leaves.
The roses, a maze, I’m desperate to leave.

Hark! Oh audience that I keep at bay,
The actor you watch plays a poor man’s play,
Funded by doubts and a thought’s sick game--
Hark! Oh audience, tell me who's to blame:
The one whose slammed doors opened room for fresh wars,
Or the one whose sentence sent the heart for repentance.

Judge, oh jurors, my plea for me:
How far does the apple fall from the tree?
With the shattered and broken shipped off for repair,
And white flag mangled with copious wear,
The mechanic’s work will never be done
When he is my father and I, his son.