The Old School

A Poem by Ron Spice

I was inspired to right this poem one night after I saw an article on the Duluth, MN, news channel detailing the closing of the old Duluth Central High School.

When all at once my doors do close
And dust becomes the lamps' hat,
Ghosts will continue to haunt my halls,
Trying in vain to fade back...

Into my formidable walls
That hold no portal except
For the faint paintings tall
That on my silent walls have slept.

Snoring are the time-driv'n bells,
Mere whispers of Father Time himself
Who once barked sharply at all they could tell
But in time found no lasting relief.

Even the hunger-plagued rats
Can find no sustenance here
For mice have nibbled raw the books that
Had nourished scholars for many a year.

Surely there exists no reason for me,
Nor future nor plausible doubt,
To be given meaningless mercy
From destroyers so devout.

So why do you inspect my every limb,
And throw open every gate,
Whence from me you left in much chagrin
With words of wanton and fiery hate?

Come, berate me with your fire and stone;
Release upon me your grandest flood;
Try to deny me as your home and throne;
For I am woven into your blood.