88 lines
3.0 KiB
HTML
88 lines
3.0 KiB
HTML
|
<!DOCTYPE html>
|
||
|
|
<html>
|
||
|
|
<head>
|
||
|
|
<meta charset="UTF-8">
|
||
|
|
<title>october 7, 2018 - Archive - MayVaneDay Studios</title>
|
||
|
|
</head>
|
||
|
|
<body class="mayvaneday">
|
||
|
|
<p align=center>
|
||
|
|
<b>MayVaneDay Studios (Gopher Edition)</b>
|
||
|
|
</p>
|
||
|
|
<p><b>october 7, 2018</b></p>
|
||
|
|
<p>published: 10-7-2018</p>
|
||
|
|
<p> </p>
|
||
|
|
<p>I woke up early this morning<br />
|
||
|
|
and there was nobody alive.<br />
|
||
|
|
The entire campus dead,<br />
|
||
|
|
little more than the ghostly shell of a bee hive.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>I walked to the cafe (and back,<br />
|
||
|
|
for they weren't open yet.)<br />
|
||
|
|
Half an hour to kill,<br />
|
||
|
|
and not a single soul I met.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Solitude sudden and bizarre,<br />
|
||
|
|
like a movie about an apocalypse.<br />
|
||
|
|
Sky bleak and dismal:<br />
|
||
|
|
my future: a possible glimpse.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>As the day went on, more and more people came into view.<br />
|
||
|
|
Just sleeping, hearts brand new.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>After lunch, I decided to get lost.<br />
|
||
|
|
Not in the police-get-involved sense, which I'd dreamed about the night prior,<br />
|
||
|
|
but a simple walk to the arboretum,<br />
|
||
|
|
searching for a sense of a higher power.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Throughout my life, I've been in several almost-cults.<br />
|
||
|
|
To reality, each a grave insult.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>I found a nice bench to sit on, far from the beaten path.<br />
|
||
|
|
I wrote for a while, but then several students walked by, gossiping about other students being whores.<br />
|
||
|
|
I got pissed- not outwardly, of course- and took a wrong turn-<br />
|
||
|
|
and then suddenly thought, "I don't think I'm on campus anymore."</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Sprawling fields of what once was prairie,<br />
|
||
|
|
long grass stretching as far as the eye could see.<br />
|
||
|
|
On the other side, a few scattered buildings,<br />
|
||
|
|
each one calling out to me.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The same spirit as the one from the old trainyard<br />
|
||
|
|
when I was but six years old,<br />
|
||
|
|
pleading with me to abandon my father<br />
|
||
|
|
and get lost forevermore.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>I turned and left and found another bench,<br />
|
||
|
|
this one covered with moss.<br />
|
||
|
|
I took my laptop back out and continued to write<br />
|
||
|
|
and thought about last week's loss.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The definition of catastrophe,<br />
|
||
|
|
a great deal of people I thought were friends leaving me,<br />
|
||
|
|
and a sudden unwanted sense of what it meant to be a refugee.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The group of people came back my way again,<br />
|
||
|
|
so I abandoned my bench and took back to the path.<br />
|
||
|
|
Ten minutes of walking later, and I re-found<br />
|
||
|
|
the old tree swing, upon which I sat.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>It was the swing from new student orientation,<br />
|
||
|
|
where I swung from tulip-planting to midday,<br />
|
||
|
|
when the student leaders found me and walked me around the campus<br />
|
||
|
|
and then sent me on my way.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>A wind picked up, and I zipped my coat shut.<br />
|
||
|
|
A biker zoomed by, and almost fell in a rut.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>I write this poem for the simplest of lives,<br />
|
||
|
|
for the people alientated from the land.<br />
|
||
|
|
That I soon remember fully what it means to be me,<br />
|
||
|
|
and that I soon find a helping hand.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>But, like so many dandelion seeds,<br />
|
||
|
|
I now scatter to the wind.<br />
|
||
|
|
You may take my name and my life,<br />
|
||
|
|
but my legacy, I will not rescind.</p>
|
||
|
|
</body>
|
||
|
|
</html>
|