Newspapers / St. Andrews University Student … / April 19, 1989, edition 1 / Page 5
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April 19, 1989 Page 5 Scared to Dance The doors and windows are all boarded up; The neon sign is now light- less. I used to dance for 10 cents a dance. But now the dance hall is gone. Night after night, with an ticipation, I would take one dollar, I would dance nine daiKes, then stop. Scared to spend my whole dollar. You caught me watching you. So you asked me to dance. We stepped on the floor together One cold January night. My dance was strange. But you tried to follow. You save me your hand. Then you took the lead. I danced with fear That you struggled to overcome; But every time you moved forward, I would gingerly step back. My moves frusrtated you. But I feared your dance; Afraid that I would be lost, Forever in my prison. Night after night I waited for you, I was scared to take the chance, I would'nt dance the tenth dance, yours. So we could no longer dance. You left the dance hall long ago. Leaving me no reason to re turn; But I went back time and again. Hoping to find you for one more dance. Still night after night I wander by; And night after night I wonder. What if I'd danced the tenth dance? What if I had spent my whole dollar? Quill and Ink DO NOT SHOUT Do not shout those crippling lies when walls collapse about you and your mind can't hold its bitter thoughts or memories anymore. Do not whisper CTuel ideas wihtin the noise of crowds so your voice will carry far into unconscious minds of virtue. Do not speak of evil once you've turned a naughty stone and your pride that once was power is conquered by your shame. Do not say you've seen the light and ask me to befriend you when all I see is brewing hatred lurking in your eyes. Do not cry on shoulders that are open and recieving and feel sorry for your hardships and your lonely, darkened days- for dwellling deep inside you in your heart and blinded soul is the antedote to poison that's possessed you all along. —Amy Cox BY THE LAKE By the lake Welcome to my painted room where acrylic eyes tell shadowed lies and I behold true fruit surreal cobwebs veil she is picking flowers. the modest clock. And as I gaze Suspicious sighs hover the old man says to me between doubt and he says: bridges and "Son, (dali died today) I've learned that all there is crutches crumble to life beneath images of a is having big toys madman and lots of green paper. Gala smiles as an atmos I've collected my fair share pheric of both. skull becomes the bust of so I believe it's time Voltaire, you go and do likewise." becomes the last sup And I looked at the old man per. and I looked the self-portrait of a and I realized sfranger. that then abstracts through I'd rather be picking fruit. time —David Southwood-Smith and space and minds and is gone. —Georgia Goff i
St. Andrews University Student Newspaper
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April 19, 1989, edition 1
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