Of and for a student
No rage stirs up his muddy eyes, with clear
Tears standing still on those unblinking lids.
No rage reveals his secret fight with fear
That dazzles, blinds, confounds, and ever bids
His drunkard mind to find its strongest drink
In his and Sisyphus’s glorious
Defeat. Again he rises just to sink.
Repeat! And there is none victorious
To give him hope enough to rage again,
He thinks. Now no inspiring speech avails
Because he thinks he knows the pathogen
Is words, words, words. Repeat! It always fails.
He’s tired, he thinks, too proud and tired to fight—
No rage about the dying of the light.