Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Rhapsody on The Final Final Paper

I can smell the freedom.

But you are in the way.

Dear Final Final, you are the Last.
The finally finality, the concluding conclusion. And how I wish to conclude you!


Of all the Finals that I have finally completed, you are infinitely
the worst.
You sneer and smirk like
 the rest did
 you deprive me of freedom
       of happiness
                 of contentment
                           like the rest did, but YOU!

                                                 You stand in the way of Peace.

You will be the termination of my term.
Beyond you lies
                           infinity,
                                 eternity–
all that speaks of health and wealth and wisdom,
outside of this brief span
of years and grades,
textbooks,
professors.

You haunt me
like a spectre;
 you rap upon my chamber door
and quoth you:
                  "Discuss the identities accepted and rejected by these four African writers..."
You are the dagger I see
before me in the dead of night
As I lay me down to sleep and
not to mention during the day when I'm doing the dishes.


Have pity upon me.

My brain died two weeks ago, and yet you still expect me
               to prod it into sentience when I feel like
                a somnambulist;
             you require finesse
          when all I can provide is
                      fumbling.
In short,
you want my brain to Work, when it lost all usefulness some days ago!

Have pity.

We can work together, you and I–
 I will help to appease you,
somehow I will scrape from the black goo of Academia words enough to satisfy you,
                               to fill you,
                                 to make you complete–
                                  I will!
                               I vow it!
                     I swear it to you on my transcript– only–
               be kind to me, dear Final Final–
 
be kind.

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