O, Rejoice my Soul!

Or: Lines Composed After Finishing the Long Dreaded Paper

O, the sweet, sweet smell of freshly printed paper.
The last sentence typed,
I rejoice in my completion. What victory,
what joyful triumph. That lowly student
could conquer words, could read like the wind,
could stab the books of academia through the heart
with a silver spike. One foot I rest
on the defeated in a victorious pose.

Later, at the feasting, I rejoice some more.
Paper and pens thrown thru the air
trickle down like a refreshing spring shower.
Then I sit, in thoughtful meditation,
wondering why I am happy, for I shall have
to do it all again tomorrow.
I ignore the nagging of my consciousness:
for now I will forget all and be happy,
if for a moment only.