Some new pain hides behind the veil of those
Dreaming spires. Some silent assassin poised
Lying in wait.
Hiding in ink, circling
Stale pages in the closed stacks, lingering.

Invisible sylphs ask us to choose: to
Swallow toxic cyanide, or else taste
The most sullen, bitter memory of
Broad Street, overflowing, over the brim, with
Late to a tute
Blem outside the Kings Arms
Is that the Rad Cam???

All people, weighed down by bullet-sized smiles.
We’re wading through smoke, caustic chloroform,
Until paralysed, until parasites
Infect our blinking, saccharine eyes.

The same eyes that looked upon benign red brick
With aspiration, see it crumble like sand
Falling between fingers, feverishly slipping;
As fast as the sweet trance of sleep.

Who dares wonder whether we’ll cross bridges,
Who’ll be the first to neck golden pints, or
See the impossible black of a mortarboard?
Who’ll ask if it’s too brave to dream again?

Image credit: Ellie Wilkins

For Cherwell, maintaining editorial independence is vital. We are run entirely by and for students. To ensure independence, we receive no funding from the University and are reliant on obtaining other income, such as advertisements. Due to the current global situation, such sources are being limited significantly and we anticipate a tough time ahead – for us and fellow student journalists across the country.

So, if you can, please consider donating. We really appreciate any support you’re able to provide; it’ll all go towards helping with our running costs. Even if you can't support us monetarily, please consider sharing articles with friends, families, colleagues - it all helps!

Thank you!