Tuesday afternoon

Naked skies expose a piercing sun,
And an aberrant warmth belies the calendar.

The mood is somber.
A hush blankets the valley.
As I walk through a campus devoid of spirit,
Students are quiet and scarce.
Even the so-called protest outside of Old Main has an air of predetermined defeat.
One man stands on the steps and burns his diploma.

University spokespeople suggest terms like “shocked” and “saddened,”
But those words don’t do justice.
We are stunned.
We are afloat within the space between knowledge and acceptance,
Filled with palpable, ubiquitous emptiness.
We are sickened by a force that weighs in our guts.

This is happening, we repeat.
Our heart is broken.

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