By Janella Katapang

I am sorry
I lied when I told you were born from love
It’s not in our blood to lie

By River Ordéñez

The knight kills for the many
Or so he says as he marches
Through the fields of red wheat
The bodies all counted

By Adrija Vecenaite

The glistening of a star in the quiet sky,
The stinging pain in his left eye
For how long must he live in anticipation
Of when it will sting again?