The Lake

by Natasha Hilt

Let’s drift back into a holler
Float above the dark, muddy unknown
Where corpses, catfish, and vampires
All crawl along the rocks and trenches
Blank eyes seeking a light they cannot find.
Green, poisoned water soaks into us
Caressing our faults and mistakes.
It deepens its hold on us,
Kindly threatening to drag us down
To join the saturated carrion.
Don’t let it take you
No matter how sweetly it whispers
No matter how soft it begs
Keep from drowning in its absolute promise
Of sunlight on the ripples

And lost souls down below.

NATASHA HILT was born in Abingdon, Virginia.  She is a 21-year-old student attending Ferrum College where she majors in Art and has a minor in English.


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Belle Rêve Literary Journal is a southern literary experience. Our mission is to capture everything that makes the South and its residents unique through the best contemporary literature we can find. We publish new works weekly.