Below is one of the contest entries.
In the murdered peace We shall be buried to the silent breeze under the closed eyelids of the absence, in the entrenched color between the eyes of freedom, in the waving rags of the lost peace. With the face extended to the defeated sun and our mouths drained out of words. We shall be dead when the birds' song stops, and ravens come to party to the battlefield. The germinating seeds of anger flourish and the graveyard ask us the price for our uncertainty. We shall be lost in the past tense, swinging swords into the blindness unsuccessfully, wishing for the one we've lost in shadows, paying high taxes for the mending of our broken wings.
— Jael Uribe
All Poems Submitted to the Contest