By Tom Farris, Contributing Poet
The bustle of cars lightly clog the roads
Ready to be relieved of their contents
Human, but mostly material,
Yet the new hearts of campus beat quickly on.
And the air nearly drips, humid
With the fresh dreams of unquenchable potential
And the ripe tears of change.
From this odd, joyous fever the fervor
Of their heightened passions seethes,
Campus overcome to the sole rule of the young.
Thus the new crowd creates for themselves
A temporal anomaly,
A sea of distorted time,
In which the young fish swim slow,
Their powerful fins free
To help them make a memory
Upon which to glut their new, wild joys.
It is elementary and fundamentally too obvious
To say that
It is a rite of passage, this sea,
Into which no one enters without some dirt
But no one leaves without some water either.
And eventually time returns to normal,
The river running you from your pond
Ever so slowly, and rapidly ‘creasing
Until the banks are barely visible
And the ocean spreads into your nose
And over your head…
But you’ll always remember
The current from which you came.
