George Naranjo

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The Truth Between the Lines 
(These Four Years)

Somewhere hidden in our class books,
are some crucial truths,
Though we may not see it,
Wen we're distracted by the fevered brain of our youth.

These four years develop us like wood to paper,
Sand to glass,
But is disguised as four years of class.

Four years that in the better time we stand tall
Like a skyscraper overlooking all.
Other wise we fall like a sunken ship,
embraced by only canon balls.

These four years we meet many,
and meet the few who we consider our best friend
or worst enemy.

These four years come with plenty. Confusion.
Emotions.
Confusing emotions,

As hopes and dreams come apart and reform,
only to up and go once more.

After these four years,
The sky is limitless,
At least that's what we're told.
There's never a reason for us to hide.
No reason to stay indoors.
So when life leaves us deaf, dumb, and blind;
When the Soul's bleeding
And our will begins to die,
These four years taught us to read between the lines.


Baptism of Icarus

I'm still delicate like seaweed,
but my current doesn't break me,
nor does it feel me,
chews me out;
I feel it,
I feed off it;
though I already lost my shade,
I now not once
try to escape the flow,
nor take for granted the movement of the ocean,
therefore,
my now color never truly fades
but shines at fullest potential,
and is awake in darkness,
high in the abyss,
still asleep to lesser nights,
starless,
and perfectly in bliss;
Clever color is at the expense
and the death
of pride;
Pride:
the sins of sins,
the root of hubris;
Hubris:
defying gods by doing yourself in;
Yourself:
the one that set to the sun,
but now set not to what you have done;
You:
Where deep with the dead benthos,
Icarus became Lazarus.