A Hillsborough Community College Student Publication since 1978.
by Deanna Schultz
Tender eyes and a warm smile,
Your face is the definition of sympathy.
I lay my ear to your wrist, but I cannot find a pulse.
Great walls of spikes and spines have grown year after abominable year to protect your sacred heartbeat.
A thorn has pierced the fragile skin, it is a bleeding heart.
How many lifetimes will you let these crimson tears fall?
There is passion in your words, too much love from your center, and you lack the sufficient amount of arms to hold the world’s turmoil.
My hands weave and wane through years of torture so that maybe you can heal.
My hands, they are insignificant.
My hands are mutilated.
My hands weep.
I tumble through razors and vipers to find that it wasn’t the wall that caused your spill.
You were born with a hole.
Cursed to find torment you cannot fix, to build another wall, to drip another day.
The pain you carry is the pain you choose, but the beam on your face says otherwise.