by Mark Fayngersh

I.
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, determined
exhausted enduring,
hauling their bodies through the Infinite Corridor at night seeking the p-set box,
night owls delivering what remains of a week’s hunt,
who relinquished their freedom to prospects of utility and success, hoping to reach the
infinitely far away, perhaps one day,
who drank from a fire hose with gleaming eyes, opening their minds to the barrage of
numbers and letters, mostly numbers,
who gathered in lounges and rooms with peers in their course, engaging in discourse,
striving for balance through reciprocity,
who schemed of pranks and hacks, perpetrating their machinations across campus,
traversing rooftops and not giving a damn,
who set their sights straight down the range, pulling triggers in an hour’s break while
cleansing of stress before next class,
who spent countless hours awake in front of sheets with scribbled notes, hopelessly
preparing for remorseless examinations,
who were told of education for practical application, mens et manus they
retort, and with these manus they take their life, for mens is constantly distraught,
and so the owl carries on, in constant flight throughout the night, it eats it learns it
makes it breaks, but most importantly it dreams, dreams impregnate with hopes and aspirations of a better future, no matter the torment of the present.

II.
Who guides me through the night, who leads me through the darkness?
A name he had which brought respect,
Reflecting upon our thousand crystal gazing eyes.
Florey, whose presence we have grown to love, obey, and follow,
Florey, our savior and scapegoat of adventures lost,
Florey, godsend of midnight struggles, damnation to the external world,
Florey, god damn Florey, the jack of all trades, yet master of none,
Florey talks with adventure, ticking clocks of the night,
Is what flushes life into our wings, weakness may have overtaken us once,
But with Florey we take flight.