The Night Before Finals

It is midnight.
A timid pool of light
blossoms against the dim grimness.

Only one survivor remains,
his shoulders set in harsh angles
of determination,
of desperation.

He grapples with
the deafening tumble of thoughts,
the hazy labyrinth of questions,
the scattered nest of notes.

The air is thick with concentrate of knowledge
distilled over the centuries,
an ambrosia that eludes his grasp tonight.

Endless shelves of tomes
look on in haughty silence,
like musty towers of Babel.

And a clock tuts slowly,
A pulse of ominous disapproval.

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Imagery Poem
Written for 'Paper Pal Poetry'