The literary magazine of Hagerstown Community College
Leroy Mourer
Destruction of Erudition
Fire in my soul
let me perish in the night.
From the ice in my heart,
I fear the destruction.
A world gone insane,
no help to suffice
or a favor offered.
Has desire gone by
to be filled with hate.
Struggle to survive
in need to be great.
Patrick Willock
The Ever Road
My steps go walking clip and clop,
my feet go stomping flip and flop.
I see the land go rolling by,
I feel the rain go plip and plop.
I walk beneath the azure sky,
while little pebbles catch my eye,
and on and on my path does spread;
this path belongs to only I.
Now all along this path I’ve tread,
I see the ways my feet have sped,
and all the pits that blocked my way,
they dragged me down with sacks of lead.
But as I walk both night and day,
Someone keeps evil at bay,
and gives my head a place to lay,
and gives my head a place to lay.
Monica Cerezo
Home
Home all day in this house;
four blank walls closing in. Peeking out
the window shade, the sun
is bright and beckoning.
The kids wake, hungry now-
wanting a cooked breakfast
of eggs, pancakes, toast, and juice.
They interrupt my
few moments of quiet
time to reflect and plan
the day ahead. I need
more time and energy.
“Enjoy these years,” they say.
I try hard to give them
all of me in each moment.
Even though my house is
full and bustling, I
still feel trapped and lonely.
I need to escape these
square walls that block me in
every day, all day.
Just a few hours of
refreshing me time
is all I think I need.
Running is my outlet.
I can run for miles and
miles out in the sunshine.
I cannot hear the kids
asking for this or that.
I can only hear the
beat of music in my
ears as each foot lands on
the pavement. As I run
my thoughts are cleared and I
get a new sense of who
I am. I can sing and
pray and release all my
frustrations while I run.
It is a free feeling
to run without any
restrictions in my path.
I feel like a bird who
flies high in the sunshine.
The bird is free yet
takes care of her young.
She nurtures them and loves
them but flies about free.
Out in the sunshine is
where I crave, but nothing
can keep me from the four
walls of my home sweet home.
Fatima Abdul-Aleem
Lost Affair
I am crying,
the tears are falling,
down they come.
An outpour of loneliness,
expressed in the only way I know how.
You see,
I miss the warmth,
the feel of someone’s caress
on my pages.
Massaging my covers,
touching my essence,
as they delve into the words
enveloped inside me.
They seek the promise of escape,
the illusion of make believe,
the power of growth.
I miss their scent.
That sweaty smell
of a hard days’ work,
that lingering aroma
of the morning’s perfume.
I miss being alive.
A thumping passion
in the hearts of the young,
as they eagerly look ahead.
A resounding memory
of the elderly,
as they prepare to exit
this adventure, called life.
For I have been replaced with
touch screens, audio, live feeds.
Machines bellow out my contents,
videos explain what I mean.
Computer keys are punched
to replace his fingers,
her hands.
The melody of the love we shared
exchanged,
for an iPad, a Kindle, a Nook.
Angelique Sites
Achilles and Patroklos
I have feared this time would come,
for like the wind you have swooped in and taken my heart.
I feared its capture, though it has not been enslaved by you, but set free,
free of wrath and replaced by hope.
Even death’s cold departure could never steal the gifts that you have given me,
for I am left forever changed by you.
-Achilles’ love professed to Patroklos
Rebecca Woody
Imagine if a Butterfly
Imagine if a butterfly could sing.
oh! The joy that could fill the air.
A glowing aurora of voice would ring,
the world couldn’t help but dare
To reach out to a sun-soaked flower,
fingers longing for the capture.
Imagine if a butterfly could sing.
Yet, instead, as one approaches,
a fearful, flirtatious flutter encroaches.
A blur of blue and purple flashes
upon the silky green.
Timid, silent, filled with fear.
never wanting one to hear
The God-granted mystery, to one so dear.
Only God can reveal the beauty
in the rhythmic beat of the innocent.
Only He can reveal the beauty,
oh! That day is imminent
When the butterfly will sing.
Jeremiah Sater
The Gleaming
Gleaming grandeur attracts the many,
drawing them into a forever trap.
Possibility of escape is rare,
though can be found when all is lost.
When escape is seen,
they often turn back,
never knowing life without
that gleaming grandeur.
Held tightly within its grasp,
at first they may have resisted,
while accepting the fate,
but now resting comfortably.
The gleaming grandeur holds them in awe,
blinding them from the things around them,
never knowing what truly should be seen,
trapped with the grasp.
They hold onto it,
serving it, rather than it serving them,
forgetting what should control what,
living forever in its grasp.
Forgetting their past,
and those outside the light of the grandeur,
they walk with the blind,
the blind leading the blind.
But can those blinded find the sight filled?
impossible is not impossible,
but first they must look past the blinding gleam,
to see that there is life beyond it.
The gleaming grandeur only controls
what the heart allows in,
bringing reality to perspective,
the grandeur loses its hold.
The gleaming grandeur will always remain,
near the heart,
waiting to enter,
to fade out reality, slowly regaining control.
Patty Apostolides
Extremes
No man is an island
or an oasis.
Although at times he feels
alone,
maybe through lack of understanding
or by choice,
or by unexpected circumstances,
there are always others to
prompt and nudge him along,
to remind him that life is more than
just his little world.
No man is an ocean,
all encompassing, forever moving,
never at rest,
even though appearing calm on the surface,
underwater currents flow
from seething schools of fish.
Although at times he feels
overwhelmed
by constant juggling of events
or by waves of circumstances that
flow into one stress or another;
there are always others to
slow him down, to bring him peace,
to remind him that life can be lived,
one moment at a time.
To find balance requires a pacing of the self,
particularly when we witness
a time to grow and a time to rest,
a time to laugh and a time to mourn,
a time to cry and a time to heal,
a time to create and a time to appreciate,
a time to live and a time to die.
Life is a mixture of extremes that
can be chaotic if man dares not make choices
to find the inner balance of his soul –
where there is no time –
and learns to be one with his Creator.
Chelsea Kershner
Temptation
My heart fights your advances,
but my body yearns to be yours.
Smoldering stares left me paralyzed.
Every bone within my body
is no longer my own to control.
Left to crumble without your command,
I stand in my own skin,
begging for the words hanging from your lips
to speak my name.
My spine aches for your touch.
Your ice cold fingertips,
are the only craving I need satisfied.
The veins in my body
are wired to light with the growl in your voice,
and my fragile neck is connected to be broken at your will.
The fight for control of my own body
has left me ragged and drained.
I have surrendered control of every inch
and yet I feel I have not surrendered enough.
Taryn Owens
A Wish on Replay
The silk of her voice floats
on the air around me
her voice deep blue, lovely purple
and elegant black
There is a whirlpool of passion I am caught in
as I close my eyes and allow
the emotion to carry me to a place
only God could have created
The rush of this colorful tornado takes
the hues from her voice and
paints them across my imperfect body
transforming me into an angel
And the shadows that had made
obvious my imperfections are
drowned in this beauty of an invisible voice
A protecting voice that warns
the shadows that made me unbeautiful
the vibrant paint becomes my clothing
my defenses and fear fall away
from this color that is music
that is voice, that is passion
that is love
Without warning the whirpool escapes
from the air that surrounded me
into a place I could never hope to touch
the finality of the end
replaces the tornado in the air
for a few breathless seconds
And then I smile
Only a hint of the angel
that her voice created in me
I walk over to the CD player
And hit replay