The literary magazine of Hagerstown Community College
Samantha Baldwin
Titled
My mind’s voice is hoarse
From so many ideas flowing at once
So many words need to be expressed
The paper is my echoing wall
These aren’t the words I want!
Some fit better than others
Though they may all mean the same thing
This choice is hard but it’s the best
A life flows from my fingers to the parchment
Yet so too does a new essence flow into me
Be it a poem, a story, or a letter
This is the energy the spoken word cannot convey
Erin Beardsley
Where Treasure Lies
Much is lost in a storm from the sea
Treasures of gold hidden in the deep
Those who wander do not find
The treasures of that kind
But the King of the sea
Knows true indeed that treasure of the sea
While they sleep the night is woken
The moon glitters across the sea
Its light bringing new life
That type of treasure is of the King
The true treasure of the sea
Things of the earth will decay
Become broken or rust away
But the true beauty is here to stay
The beauty that no blade can steal
The beauty of the sea
Stephanie Eberly
Hidden Behind the Mask
On top of a hill, a girl sits beneath a lonely Willow tree. From afar it seems as though her eyes sparkle each time the sun’s rays reach between the branches. She is a beautiful girl with long dark brown hair and dark eyes. Her clothing is that of any teen these days, nothing unusual. But if one were to walk toward her, he wouldn’t hear a sound aside from the rustling of leaves. He’d try calling the girl’s name, but there would be no response. Pushing aside the flexible branches, the person would realize that she is crying- no, not a loud sob, not at all. Rather, a silent, constant sob, one that could only be noticed if a person were to take the time to see it. She is sitting with her knees close to her chest and with her head buried in them. The person would try in vain to get her attention. He would approach her and carefully lift her head. But what he would see would greatly surprise him. As his eyes would meet hers, he would be brought back to a different place and a different time. He would not see the happiness and smiles he would so expect he’d see. No, he’d see pain, struggle, anguish, and frustration. He would realize that her eyes, they do not sparkle in the sun because she is happy. They sparkle because each time the sun comes through, each tear rolling from her eyes catches the rays, sending out a brilliant shine. Her eyes are a window to her soul, to the struggle that she faces every day. But no one comes up that hill. They may think to offer a glance, but upon seeing a normal girl with sparkling eyes, they move on. The world beneath the hill only sees a happy, average teenage girl, and nothing more. That’s why she chose the hill, where there is no sound but the rustling of the Willow as a gentle breeze hits its branches. The sound comforts her. The old Willow, the breeze, and the sun are her only comforts. She is alone in this world of a million faces- alone to sink deeper into her sorrow. Because no one takes the time to walk up the hill.
Autumn Gray
Survival
It’s as if my feet have been drenched in gasoline and my heels are made of sulfur,
After burning every bridge I have had the privilege of walking on,
It’s time to start over.
As I look at my reflection while brushing my teeth,
I see the story of my life written in the lines on my face—
Smile lines given to me by the mask I wear to disguise the voices lingering in my head,
Frown lines above my brow coming from my confused “Why me again, Lord” face,
Bags that showed up at my front door from carrying the weight of held back tears for so many years—
And in that moment I realize that it may be too late. I’m tired of fighting.
Some might say it’s just an excuse not to get up, to get motivated, or to live.
But in my case living has been exhausted, and survival is my main priority.
Michelle Dean
Wyatt
A spirit so free without a care in the world
Oblivious to the dangers in life
He feels safe in a stranger’s lap laying curled
Oh his innocence is so beautiful
If only it would last a lifetime
A young unscathed precious little soul
The love in his heart he expresses with words
Never knowing rejection he remains vulnerable
His voice so tiny yet so easily heard
Maybe we are the ones who are blind
We teach them even though we need taught
Oh how much we can learn from a child’s heart and his mind
David Yohman
Silent Sentry
A soldier stands watch in a cold dark place
He looks out on a cold dark night
A lone sentry keeping his friends safe
A chill goes up his spine
He sees movement in the cold dark night
He challenges the intruder from the cold dark place
Only to be pierced by a nameless face in the cold dark night
The soldier lies facedown in that cold dark place
Struck down by that nameless face
