The Spike or Victoria College Review 1947
When smoke has shot through floor cracks,
Through the vast
Ignominy of wasteful paradise,
I have cried a panic truce
Upon my spendthrift solitude.
When the bulb has bitten life
From the hard soil,
I have said a last goodbye
And turned to nourish
The green stalk with my barren flesh.
When a voice has crossed the counterpoint Of melodies,
Unmingled and risen opposing,
I have heard no more music
Only the lone voice striving to me.
If a ghost shall enter my room
And I find books
Unable to quell the questioner,
I will burn the lettered past
And break my will upon the ghostly future.
W. H. Oliver