Poem for teachers

Teachers, teachers don’t be preachers

You don’t know what the students may teach us

You don’t know the truth of all things

Power in the class room ends when the bell rings

Outside

Only respect rings true

But it rings hollow

When activity staff look at you

They have venom, and bitter jealousy

It is wrapped up in their modicums

Of daily pleasantries

It is barely hid

By the failures of their day’s pursuits

But hey everyone needs a scape goat

When a leader they can’t shoot

Power to the powerless

Power to their heads

Run around a young circus

Who have no frame for the nervous-dead

Some incognito tribal rallying drum

Beats their rather void like lives

For to borrow the gun

Aim it like a coward at someone else

But them

Then justify their actions

In the guise of men

Nothing can excuse them

Not even being young

Just the misuse of wisdom

Borrowed from someone

Just the stupid actions

Of some young guns

When eighteen meant dying for country

Now it means dying for fun

Well go and die for your gods

For your false idols

I had my dreams in education

Of the ranks of chivalry or bone-idle

And I see that it has failed if a pupil

Can turn out like you

That a few glasses of the strong stuff

Can reveal your true colours to be

A faded hue

Nothing but the shades of racism

In a classes war

Nothing but the bitter rivalries

Between rich and poor

Nothing but the dumb distinctions

On a playing field

Where if you paid attention in school

You’d remember

all men were created equal

And deserve such dignity

Despite the way your insecurities

May make you feel