Halls
Kids come roaring out of dark and light dungeons named “classroom;”
Kids scream and push each other out of fun or out of the fear of being late to class.
The halls go from a peaceful forest made of cement and carpet to the war zone of World War Two.
Teachers
They watch with the eye of a hawk never missing students face.
They become walls when running or going rebel from the dark side.
There is one chosen one, he keeps the hall safe his sword made with the dark wood of oak.
Lockers
The slam shut or burst open.
The student has to keep them clean, but some look like a hoarders closet;
Filled with trash and binders that have never seen the light of a florist LED school light.
School
The place where dreams are made and were tears are born;
A place where we come to have fun and come to suffer torture.
School the place we can never escape.