The Endless Light

The endless light.

The shift of a thousand bodies

crying laughing fucking.

Hot airless corridors strip lit

and prison-like.

They huddle over their

guilty cigarettes,

hounded out into the bleak


to shuffle their feet

through wet leaves,

inhaling the warm laundry air

pumped through a vent

and into their smoke-blackened lungs.

Will the last vestiges of detergent,

clinging to infinite molecules of moisture

cleanse those

feeble organs, or be rejected with the cool clean air,

to be scattered,

a pollutant?

Would that I were away,

dissolved in vapour,

a mere shimmer in the heavy air.

My ceiling hums with the very life that fills this place.

As if too many heartbeats

have synchronised,

giving up just one pulse.

I put a finger to my wrist,

and count off the beats

to the rhythm of banging doors,

racing footsteps,

coughs and futile curses.

The Corridor by Kiel Benson

One response to “The Endless Light”

  1. […] image is exactly, hauntingly, an emotional summary of my university years. In fact, I even wrote a poem that this drawing could have been made to illustrate. The bizarre thing is that this is one of […]

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