Kentridge High School - Accolade Yearbook (Kent, WA)

Page 112 text:

Uselessly I weep for time gone by and wish that I had seen A the countless opportunities now gone to waste in an ocean of emptiness filled with many things yet containing nothing. My days were busy and I did so much I was convinced I was building something of myself and my life. Something well-rounded, since I had to taste every pie that came my way yet never finishing any entirely Tfwwaudnwv or deciding which I liked the best. I poked just enough to break the glassy surface which was so inviting and once disturbed I left it alone to become once again a wanderer searching for what I knew not and filling my own private ocean of futile attempts to crea te a me with an identity all could relate to, but ultimately achieving a single goal of destroying the joy of youth and creating something without any foundation upon which to stand. Now I ask myself 'Who am l?' but I cannot say, for which of the many me 's is the real one that can survive in a world where it 's impossible to exist without an identity as a shelter against becoming a nothing created from too many things and losing myself in the anonymity of my own vast ocean of nothingness Ruth Tressel 108 MEMORIES Tawee McLeod

Page 111 text:

WiufUvQuw Winter has returned ln a moment of fading green, lcy mists of death brush the earth. Grey, dusty streaks cross stormy skies. Chilling winds twirl golden warmth away, And hours silently die - forgotten. Traces of love seem unreal, Lite locks away precious beauty And in our minds we remember the blurs of laughter. We regret lost time, we live apart with our memories, And through the silent darkness of frozen days, We search for the sun - so close in our smiles And so hidden. JoEllen Kruize Suki Cates MEMORIES 107

Page 113 text:

3 Memories. So beautiful and heartwarming to recall. Laughter echoes on in our minds. as we remember the joys of times long since gone and never again to be known. Yet un failingly despite our will to the contrary, slowly a mist shrouds the picture Memories Connie Conley and a slight fuzz begins to appear, as mold develops on old bread, so does a fog cloud our minds and begin to obscure those poignant thoughts we once considered so permanent and unerasable. Slowly they slide from our grasp as a wave upon the shore leaving no trace of their existance. Memories. Ruth Tressel MEMORIES 109