The clocks are ticking,
Although someday the hands will likely stop.
Pens scribble across blank pages,
Although someday the paper will likely disappear.
Soon it will only be keys clicking,
The drums of war in an auditorium.
Where new minds brew destruction for peace.
A figure stands alone at the front,
One mind against hundreds,
Preaching past sins, urging progress,
Or is it regression?
Hundreds of youth don’t know.
They simply sit at the solid tables,
With squeaking, unyielding chairs beneath,
Trying to comprehend the words spurted forth.
Words forming theories and trumpeted as truth.
Hundreds sit, scratching furiously,
Crammed into the cavernous theatre,
A fragile box overflowing with gems.
Here future great minds sit,
Clustered together, an easy target.