The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd by Sir Walter Ralegh

Fall the world and love were young,

And truth in every shepherd's tongue,

These pretty pleasures might me move

To live with thee and be thy love. 

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,

When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;

And Philomel becometh dumb;

The rest complains of cares to come. 

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 

To wayward winter reckoning yields: 

A honey tongue, a heart of gall, 

Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 

The gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 

Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies 

Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,— 

In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, 

Thy coral clasps and amber studs, 

All these in me no means can move 

To come to thee and be thy love. 

But could youth last and love still breed, 

Had joys no date nor age no need, 

Then these delights my mind might move 

To live with thee and be thy love. 

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Grand Canyon Red - Benjamin Moore - 2090-10

By Juliana Arosemena

Grand Canyon Red,

Spreading out for miles and miles,

Thy creases and cracks

A billion years old,

Are wise and sore

Like the old man’s soul.

The sun begins to set

And thy colors turn

Orange, gold, and red.

Such majesty,

Such grace,

Such knowledge buried

Under thy layers,

Each one a billion years older

Than the other.

Thy Colorado frets

Upon thy walls,

Yet thou remain unscathed,

And it is I who returns wounded

Once again to the warmth of thy soul.

Thou give me comfort,

Thou give me peace,

Thou seem to be the shining sun

After the constant storm

Within our souls.

Thou crack open

Arizona into two, and

Everyday both ends pull further apart.

Thy caverns, caves, and cuts

All match the patterns of my heart.

The little Condors break their wings apart

Trying to fly from one end to another.

When once the Colorado

Streamed vividly through thou,

Full of life and peace

Were all of us.

Now its absence has left wounds;

And it is only from the Hermit’s Rest

That we can see

What seems to be a trickle of it left.

For we must go deep

Before we actually realize its presence

Is still there.

Grand Canyon Red,

I miss thy warmth,

Thy comfort,

Thy peace,

Thou entirely.

I want to press my ear

Against thy surface,

Feel thy warm heartbeat across the soil,

Hear the silence—peaceful

Silence in the stress-less air—

I want thou back.

Grand Canyon Red,

We need thou more than ever,

For we’ve split further apart,

With a crack bigger than yourself.

Only you can quiet down

Such thunder,

Such clash that has gone out of hand.

Grand Canyon Red,

We need thou back.

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Where I'm From

I am from video games,

From Halo and Fable.

I am from the mud puddles and tall grass

(Spreading out endlessly

Across the large green fields)

I am from the pine trees,

From the sharp cold wind

Whooshing through the thick

Brown forests.

I am from family reunions and brown eyes,

From Justo and Fabio

Arosemena.

I am from the artists

And the architects,

From put that down!

And stop that!

I am from church-free

Weekends yet from occasional prayers,

From the silver cross sitting

On my nightstand.

I’m from the grand mountains of Medellin, Colombia;
Covered with dark green vegetation.
From the unknown land of Munich, Germany;
A place I've never seen before, yet one which I belong in.

I am from the Arosemena-Schnitters:
A one-of-a-kind bloodline,
More German than Grandpa himself.

From Bandejas Paisas

And morning coffee.

I am from that first tooth I lost
Playing on the monkey bars,

From the precious little curls
That once twirled and bounced on my head.

Those few pictures stored

Inside my dead grandfather’s closet,

Revealing the lost memories all five

Brothers have no recollection of.

I am from those memories—

Almost myth-like stories—

In which we once were united.