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Muse on the Mall - Poetry by HPU Students


The Demise of Ulysses
by Matt McMillan
Stone walls have crumbled,
a city left in ruins. As the
golden sheath has been torn
from the ornamental grandeur, so has
the honor been stripped from Troy. Guided by
a precise blade and Greek heritage, this conquest
belongs to a single man. His brow is consumed by
shadows, darkened by the scattered soot
of glorious flames. The wave of fire
flowed in Troy, drowning the tradition, the honor,
and the faces of those sworn to death in the name
of vengeance. The cutting edge of his steel hand
is covered in innocent blood. Rich blood that once
fueled intuition has been spilled, exposed to air
where it will spoil in the afternoon sun. This blood
will not wash from his porous skin, as it has hardened
into glowing red armor; the bristle lining his arms has absorbed
it, greedily claiming it as his own. His armor is impen- etrable,
as permanent as the licks of fire tailing from the sun.
It will tell of great power and unyielding strength as the
days to turn to years, striking fear into those who listen
to the tales of his apparent legacy.


by Jill Olivier
The muse ran away again today
But left behind in its wake
A smooth trail of torn remains.

Did you want your knife back?
I promise to fed-ex it to you
as soon as I muster the energy
to extricate it from the spine.

The preventative, dominating fear remains,
that the absence of its pain
might kill me faster
than the tortuous twists
by which you enlarge this wound.

You’ve always been notorious
for planting the knife deeper
then running away,
for failing to sugarcoat
malicious honesty.

I should have noticed sooner
how I’ve always hated your eyes.
They were never green enough to grow in,
never blue enough to swim in,
never dark enough to hide in.

And yet you tried to pull me
over you as your safety blanket
protecting from rainstorms.

Were you more afraid
of the thunder or lightning?
Or were you upset most
by the torrential flooding?

Still I did try not to bleed
too much on those white carpets
each time you carved
yet another piece out of me.

by Celeste Hewlett
Resist my calls
They are in blind faith
Yet somehow pure
With the best intentions.
Forgive my heart
For indulging in lies
Emerged from secrets
Yet to be told.
Remember my smile
When as the rain was new
and the fragments of yesterday.
Dissolved into the background.
Watch as I leave
This torn existence shall fade
From the highest expectations
We learn to fall.





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