 | The Cavalier daily. Monday, November 25, 1968 |  |
Once Beautiful Eyes
First-year man David Helms wrote the following
poem after walking from the train station to his dorm
the Sunday morning of Openings.
Stepping from the train,
The fog moves to swallow me up
Two-thirty-cold and lamp,
Is this my destination?
Suddenly human forms
Escape the fog, and
Approach the train
What but painted girls,
Sad streaked faces,
Hair disheveled,
And oh! the once beautiful eyes -
Now swollen with drink and disillusionment.
Following close behind
Come the gentlemen,
Empty bottles in hand.
Nothing like smoke, liquor, and vomit,
To make a gentleman smell sweet.
"Good night Judy - I mean Jane - ah
Don't tell me - ah - ah what the hell."
Up to the highway, and behold -
The street lights bathed in mist,
They seem to have grown wary in
Their efforts to illuminate the scene.
Why did I come tonight?
Walking now - passed by
Several drunken boys,
Suits soaked in alcohol,
And supported by girls
Half their size - and again
The eyes and the incredible bewilderment.
Another at this very moment,
Watches in a drunken stupor,
As his date is taken from him
And raped.
No sight for sober eyes.
Nothing like the sound of
Breaking bottles,
Sobbing girls - and of course
The inhuman nonsensical cries of
Those same intoxicated gentlemen.
It isn't true.
Up to bed I go - what -
What is this?
Passed out on the stairs - and his date?
There, right there beside him -
Another eyes those incredibly sad
Stop it! Hell what are you crying for?
Those eyes are still with me -
Oh! God the pain and anguish
In those beautiful tear drained eyes.
There is terror there, and
The question, why,
And I don't know why,
So they don't go away,
They don't you know,
They are always there
Asking me questions I can not answer.
The fog moves to swallow me up
Two-thirty-cold and lamp,
Is this my destination?
Suddenly human forms
Escape the fog, and
Approach the train
What but painted girls,
Sad streaked faces,
Hair disheveled,
And oh! the once beautiful eyes -
Now swollen with drink and disillusionment.
Following close behind
Come the gentlemen,
Empty bottles in hand.
Nothing like smoke, liquor, and vomit,
To make a gentleman smell sweet.
"Good night Judy - I mean Jane - ah
Don't tell me - ah - ah what the hell."
Up to the highway, and behold -
The street lights bathed in mist,
They seem to have grown wary in
Their efforts to illuminate the scene.
Why did I come tonight?
Walking now - passed by
Several drunken boys,
Suits soaked in alcohol,
And supported by girls
Half their size - and again
The eyes and the incredible bewilderment.
Another at this very moment,
Watches in a drunken stupor,
As his date is taken from him
And raped.
No sight for sober eyes.
Nothing like the sound of
Breaking bottles,
Sobbing girls - and of course
The inhuman nonsensical cries of
Those same intoxicated gentlemen.
It isn't true.
Up to bed I go - what -
What is this?
Passed out on the stairs - and his date?
There, right there beside him -
Another eyes those incredibly sad
Stop it! Hell what are you crying for?
Those eyes are still with me -
Oh! God the pain and anguish
In those beautiful tear drained eyes.
There is terror there, and
The question, why,
And I don't know why,
So they don't go away,
They don't you know,
They are always there
Asking me questions I can not answer.
— David Helms
| The Cavalier daily. Monday, November 25, 1968 | |