Poetry

The Orgcomm student. The sky is but a symbol of hope and freedom from the chains of which bind us to our course. Barren are the fields of happiness as guilt and emotional distraught take their sweet succulent time to reveal themselves. Gone are the days of carefree frosh parties, daily alcohol binges, and casual flirting with absolutely random strangers that you've never met in your entire life. What is bestowed upon us now are the fruits of hard fought labor, ripe for the picking. To attain them however, we must cross a fiery bridge of death enveloped with fog and screams of what I would like to call as "undead students", gnashing their teeth, clawing their way through society and attempting to drag us down to the burning pits of repetition that they call home. And what are we to say about our battle hardened instructors, who's every drop of sweat symbolizes blood on our hands, blood that we sometimes merely wipe away and never give meaning to. We are mature enough to realize that this is no longer a game. We are nearing the point of no return. Do we succumb to the temptations of stagnating ourselves to becoming mere children, or do we break free from all inhibitions and simply get the job done. I myself have yet to answer this question for I am a child at heart, but I know sooner or later, I will have to make the ultimate choice.