Poems
Winning Poem: "Even in Darkness" by Jamie Hallman
Even in Darkness
by Jamie Hallman
Joy can be so easy.
It can be found anywhere,
Anytime.
In the thralls of victory
Or the smile of a familiar face.
It can be all-encompassing,
A natural form of ecstasy
Or it can be a slight spark of delight
Found in a cup of coffee.
A moment of bliss so quick
Whether it was a compliment
Or seeing a puppy across the street
It is never forgotten.
It is elation with each remembrance
And a lifejacket to clutch onto
It is in the air, the sun, the very universe
It weaves through you and I
And strangers we have never met.
Joy is found in the pits of despair
And once again at the end of everything
We do not have to seek it out
For it comes in many forms.
Maybe even, this poem.
The Girl With the Hollowed Out Eyes
by Lucy Krug
She sits there—the girl with the hollowed-out eyes—
Numb to the world and tortured by lies.
She sits there with her face in her hands
Unable to fulfill any of life’s demands.
She sits there with nothing left to give,
Trapped by emptiness and expectations that live.
She sits there, a long way from home at night,
Not even comforted by the starlight.
The grass sways back and forth, but she can’t see it,
Blinded by the truths she can’t admit.
She sits there all alone—no one’s around.
Her cheeks are dry, but her soul is drowned.
The wind gently brushes against her skin
As her head and her heart continue to spin.
She sits there, a long way still left to go:
A husk of a human, ensnared by sorrow.
She sits there with nothing left to do
Unsure of what is real and what’s untrue.
She sits there with her hands on her face
Believing she’s beyond the extent of grace.
She sits there—the girl with the hollowed-out eyes—
Numb and still forced to apologize
For a part of herself she can’t ostracize,
So she hollows out her eyes and lives in the lies.
Disc
by Austin Brendle
As I sit there and stare at the stark void
Taking great care to see what’s through the veil,
I grow confused but even more annoyed
Searching to find any central detail.
Whether simple or more complex in goal
I’m stuck struggling to see meaning or feel,
Lacking a maker’s form to bare his soul,
No expression of wrongs or an ideal?
I’m trapped with blanks in place of core vision,
Much like a maze with no crystal entry,
I’m left outside without a decision,
Only guessing the goal of artistry.
Maybe contemplation was the true aim
Or else something unknown, I’m not to claim.