Below is one of the contest entries.
The Empath I am the wind blowing the plains of despair, buffeting the seas of pain. I am the grass at Dachau, the rain of Dresden that becomes the tears at Darfur, which water the jungles of Nam. I am the arrows of Big Horn that fall from the sky at Hiroshima. I am all, and all is never enough. Only yesterday the brontosaur left her footprint in the ooze, yet today the tank tread crushes that fossil stone running on the fuel of the beast. Still I rain and move the leaves with my breath. A squirrel died today. Small forlorn gray body, perfect feet curled in pain, dark wondering eyes already crow-pecked, alone in the dust at roadside. A Styrofoam cup for her headstone. A shrine decorated with cigarette butts. Such a tiny death. Who rides within the clouds but me? Are we still at war? Are we at war still? And what is war? And why are we at it? Tanks rumble in the streets, not mine. Bombs whistle to their targets, not mine. Children cry in fear and pain, not mine. Sticky blood drenches the land, not mine, not mine, oh, any god, not mine. Tears fall from an ageless wound. Mine, mine forever, all mine. If tears were enough, the world would be saved. Can we now return to Lucy sleeping restlessly in her gorge? Blood to blood, bone to bone, earth to earth, until ashes cover all, and we all fall down.
— Mara Buck
All Poems Submitted to the Contest