The Quatrain is a print and electronic literary journal for those who value quality student writing and art. We seek to display samples of the interesting, original, and exceptional work being produced by gifted Louisiana Tech students and emerging talents.
But I Could be Marble
I wish I was your muse In the same way I was you Reflected in mirrors when I modeled your rejected clothes you dressed me with But my world is no longer romanticized to think you’d carve me out of marble I have too many jagged edges to emulate effortlessly smooth beauty Grace Miholic, Volume 5 |
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Here Lie the Dreams
Here lie the dreams, Of one little, nice boy, Who has grown into a man And given up his joy. Here lie the dreams, Of one bright, happy girl, Who saw her mommy’s bottle And went to give it a whirl. Here lie the dreams, Of one up and coming star, Who saw a stranger needing help And jumped into their car. Here lie the dreams, Of a lover kneeling down, Though not quite so deep As his dear love’s frown. Here lie the dreams, Of all the broken, young, and old, Of those the world has failed, Leaving their shattered dreams cold. Samuel Cooley, Volume 5 |
May my mind dwell in great light
May my mind dwell in great light. For poison thoughts eat away the core. To compare oneself to another is a slow and painful sore. Oh how I fray! May my mind always dwell in great light. Lael Hamilton, Volume 6 Two
If you forget me, I want you to know one thing. I reside in the dew droplets in between the blades of grass Beneath your feet, In the somber tune of a hummingbirds tweets I will always exist in the sips of hot cocoa, In between your lips, The pitter-patters of drips slipping down your throat, Those chocolate-covered kisses pressed upon your heart, I lie between the material woven in your sweater, Hugging you tight, Keeping you warm, Inevitably stitched together by our eternal forms. I’ll stay by your side for as long as time allows me, Ill trickle on by with the breeze ever so soundly, Whispering in your ear, Our infatuations are ever-lasting. DeRel Smith, Volume 6 The Heron's Eulogy
These beared boughs, to whom Sun cows in dripping green and gold, Beguile the nest where grace does rest, in beauty time must hold, ‘Tween woody knees of cypress trees and honeysuckle care; Here evergreen in mouldered spring of Artist's fickle flair. I dream a breeze that rocks the trees in powdered jubilee; Your feathered frame frets not the rain of flowers on the sea. Yet cease the wind so time does end, and petals melt on glass; A moment, just, or peace may rust the claim of this morass. A stagnant marsh in name’s a farce; I've seen the dance of wings. Your stooping neck, blue feather decked, that sways as swamp yet sings. I’d sing along with guiltless song, no fear of time's just prize, But it's now choked beneath the yoke of glass and beaded eyes. . Brandon Squires, Volume 7 Decrepit Daffodils
What I wouldn’t give to be back in that golden field, dancing again with my daffodil. – It’s her smile that kills – What are these words worth? They’re daff, but real. – I wonder, do lonely clouds remember the drafts they feel? Do they miss them when they’re lost or still? What Will, am I to feel when my heart’s lost its fill, and my mind starts to keel, and the cloud is smashed into the ground, and all there is around, in this ill field, are the damned decrepit daffodils? Cold with sweat by pain of breath, they flash upon my inward eye! Is this the bliss of solitude? The torment of comforts that lost their soothe? A plague of pleasantries where rot’s ensued? The snares and the traps of a past refuge? My mind still runs to the thought of you… I gazed – and gazed – now I grieve |