Pencilcase Penitentiary

Classrooms classrooms, all I’ve ever seen,

       Teachers preaching their own gospels, each their own regime,

But where learning is learnt, and teaching taught,

       All this education seems for naught,

In the head of a dreamer where blank pages span his mind,

      It’s a sin to confine behind chalkboard bars so unkind,

O scream to break out, at the top of my lungs,

       But no one can hear shouts of a monotonous drum,

See here I am dying to leave,

      Just about ready for infinite possibility,

It seems I’m held back by the nape of the neck,

      By a fear much different than fearing a shipwreck,

We’re taught that the future is based on the past,

      In the past stones are cast that dreams never outlast,

So we attend these prisons printing degrees religiously,

      Marching alumni that swear such fealty,

Terminally dreaming of trains, plains, and boats,

      All the while sitting here copying notes.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s