In my youthful hubris I was apt to think
that the self was the epitome of all this
And yet while I was on the brink,
on once another dizzying gyration of my
befallen again by some wearisome blow,
I crumbled like breadcrumbs falling,
falling from the fingertips of fate.
Lost in myself, a sea of doubt and my own
Charybdis rising to piece apart my ego
one ravenous mouth after another.
This dissonance was never my aim
but somehow I will catch myself leaning
toward gratitude, for every arrow slung
while my fortress grew weaker still.
But a tangerine peace quells the thought
That I had suffered any injustice,
and had I never broken down so completely,
I may have never found this placidity,
a glowing a candle in my darkest chambers,
the loss of self in a selfish world.
"The Fog Commands"
Its limbs reach out, ever extending
into buildings, and trees, and people...
The scent, delicate, faintly surfacing a memory that,
like the fog, is too transparent to grasp.
It is quiet; serene becomes too void a word to explain
to mottle greens and yellows and reds,
to settle among us, in this dewy solitude.
Jessica Williams is a sophomore residing in humble Elkins, WV. She is pursuing a B.A. in English, alongside minors in education and psychology. She enjoys poring over literature, running Cross-Country, and occupying a lonesome table for one—breakfast hours only.