To the Stone Poets of Iowa City

I regained my belief in God stark naked on an Iowa riverbank
Lined with the sequence of the moon
Held on high above rusted lamp-posts
Flickering with desperation

We were not the type to drift
Aimless along the illuminated path
We stuck our heels in the grime
Or back-alleys and side-streets
Alive with the cloudy eyes and empty smiles
Of the city’s homeless
And we pushed

Pushed down onto the ideas
We dismissed so eagerly sober
That the world is a wooden box
Our every step
A new scrape upon the surface

That potential is a limitation
That or upbringing defines the inverse of our reality

We fall victim to the fatal temptation of true affection
Of freedom and energy
And the words come in bursts
Pour gasoline on our future
And laugh at the open flame

– Ethan DeLehman, The Haverford School, Class of 2016

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