How many people can say their brother saved their life? I can. It was a sunny morning in April, the snow was melting, and you could hear the constant drip drop of the water running off buildings on our homestead. I was seven that year. My brother, Keaton, woke up wanting to go fishing at the creek, though it had no fish in it. Fishing was always something we did together, so we asked Mom if we could walk out to the creek. After getting approval, we set out with our homemade poles, long sticks with fishing line tied around the end. When we got to the gravel pit where our caretaker, Cliff, was staying, we stopped in for a quick hello. I remember that Cliff always had New York mints, and had me and Keaton split one that morning. After saying good bye, we went through the woods, a shortcut, to the creek. It was thawing. The middle was completely uncovered and flowing fast, but the edges still had ice. Walking down the creek side, my brother called out, “Don't go to close to the edge of the ice. It's melting and you could fall in!”
    I should have taken his advice into consideration because within the next few minutes I ventured out to the edge. “CRACK!” The ice broke, and I fell. Struggling to stay above, and fighting the current, I screamed out for Keaton. I remember going under, fearing that it was the end. I could only see water around me, and I felt so cold. I tried to take a breath, but only swallowed water instead. I was so scared. Then I saw a hand, my brother's hand. I grabbed onto it as hard as I could, but it just slipped through my fingers. The current was pulling me away! I fought to come above the water, and succeeded in getting a breath of air. Then I felt a tug on my jacket, and with all his might Keaton hefted me out of the water, pulling me onto the ice beside him. I was shivering, and I had lost a boot.    
    Knowing he had to get me home, Keaton made me stand, made me walk. I just wanted to sleep, I was so tired. I guess I must have blacked out because the next thing I can remember was being lifted onto Cliff's shoulders, and being carried back to the house. My brother walked beside us in hysteria. He was afraid I was going to die. By the time we got back to the house, I was numb and had little strength. Keaton ran ahead and yelled for my mom to come. Seeing that I was soaking wet, my mother raced out of the house and brought me inside, placing me by the fire to warm up. It took a while, and hurt like no other, but eventually I felt better.
    If it weren’t for the love my brother has for me, I probably wouldn't have ever made it out of the creek that day. I owe it to him forever, and I am very thankful to have him.

     Something a lot of people don’t know about me is that poetry is my life. Since I was young I have read poetry and have always been able to find something moving, or inspiring in the words of others. A few years ago, I picked up a pencil and decided to try to write in the way that I loved reading.  When I first started out, I had a hard time finding things to write about, and most of my poems only got half way finished before I gave up and moved on. But as I practiced more, I started to see improvement in my poems, and some of them were even brought tears to the eyes of people I look up to. I started to notice that writing about activities, items, or anything I felt passionate about always turned out in my poems. Eventually I’d spend days weaving together words without stopping to take a break for anything. It entertained me, and continues to. Recently, Mr. Voley started bringing poetry into the classroom, and I embraced the opportunity to finally let my voice be heard. We read a poem, The Farmer by W. D. Ehrhart, and were asked to write a poem based on what we read. At first I didn’t know what to write, and was surprised when my pencil started moving. The words started flowing out onto the paper. I chose to write about a poet because poetry is what I feel most passionate about, but you’re going to have to be the one to judge the quality of the poem I created.

The Poet
The poet hides behind words
Words that inspire, words that are a spirit
Sewn together to make a mask
Pain, love, sorrow
A slow song, portraying inner beauty
A hope to go on
The poet writes to
Deliver the world from pain
To make a change
Stains of lead
Fingers mangled from years
Of expressing a reason
A reason for living…
A reason for loving…
Wisdom written in lines
In stanzas
In words
For you, the poet has hope
For you, the poet writes on