Looking back from the end


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.


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