Nebula
The room seems far away
as she sits in the chair, listening
to the lecture. Her eyes gloss over,
sweat beading on her face.
Damn the need for good grades.
The drowning of Einstein's Dreams, time, space,
worlds and chaos. What do you dream?
Nostalgic thoughts of warmth and sleep?
The throbbing of her temple, swirling
black holes, wormholes, and the cheesy PBS documentary
on the big screen. Wouldn't you like to visit the future?
Fantasies of luscious galaxies of pure bliss.
With a flick the room is illuminated.
Her shaky body delicate with its ghostly gleam.
Trying to anchor her psyche
round two will be avoided.
Feet flat as she lethargically presses forward. Syntax
to be eluded due to the cries from the dainty aqua quilt.
Slowly she treks down the hilly
campus. The saunter shuffle of her Toms
through the fall leaves. Trudging forward
into the vacant dungeon. Time, what is it?
Slinking into the darkness she pulls the comforter
to her chin, slithering sleeplessly into chimera.
-Shannon Beverley
Nice poem.
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