Oxford's oldest student newspaper

Independent since 1920

Post Diagnosis

You could tell no one,

And it would come anyway.

You could run from here,

And it would still live,

Like a river below a house.

You could sleep all night,

Inhaling starlight,

And yet it would still be too late.

So I lay in your bed,

Staring at your bones,

Dark now, and burning.

Waiting for wings,

to burst through your shoulders.

But I am mistaken,

You take your poison

As your leaves fall off your trees,

And the winds rip at our house.

You grow thin and clear

Like the river.

We carve at your body and call it luck,

But a day’s changes mean all to you.

You see all the trees,

this unyielding one,

And you hear the blast of wind

That would have

killed it,

If something at the heart of things

had willed it.

Check out our other content

Most Popular Articles