OLD SCHOOL
A poem by Mark Burgh
By Mark Burgh Posted in Poetry on April 1, 2022 0 Comments 1 min read
Room of Memories Previous A Wholeness that Can Change Us Next

Light of learning burned out, gray windows
deathmask the rooms where souls beaten flat
sat in rows. The portico’s ornate lintel festooned
with bird nests & spiderwebs. Class photos dull on
walls chipping paint. Each face, still young, looks
out on life they have already lived. A species of
hell, then. Trees vanquish asphalt, acorns
Punctuate the unfinished words. Some students
Linger in old spitballs, or scribbled works on
Bathroom tile, names carved in desks like
a desperate operation to establish identity.
Yet, the brick tower rises as it always has,
Demonstrating the rights of the world,
What is noble falls, what is ignoble falls,
What is learned lies wadded in the gutter,
Waiting for time itself to pull that final cord


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