School
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At Pen:
Shrubs grow by the side of the road,
The road where I travelled when thinking things,
Picking up broken sticks and stones to build,
The throne of the cardboard kings.
In a different world where I was but a child,
A child who'd head home if the school-bell rings,
Of the shoeboxes stack'd for my friends,
We made Crowns for the cardboard kings.
Life was a journey from home to school,
School amidst lunch and different things,
Lazing around seemed more than luxury,
Hard beds comfortable for cardboard kings.
Slowly we shifted to different worlds,
Worlds marvelling on emerald rings,
Something seemed wrong perhaps in our heads,
No one praised the cardboard kings.
One friend went to serve a dead end of war,
Of War which the weeping mother sings,
Another found himself dying with green leafs,
The other forgot his love for the cardboard kings.
Someone sighed with shoulders drooped and fell,
Fell in love with the Lord above and His teachings,
He crossed his fate before the rest could see,
Pierced thorns in the crown of the cardboard kings.
There were a couple more who were princes,
Princes taking a trip through trippings,
Through rides of rainbows and flowerpods,
Smoked circles in the eyes of the cardboard kings.
Thrones are built on sticks and stones,
Words can help the heart in weepings,
We vowed to find ourselves again one day,
For a reunion of the cardboard kings.
That day won't come and I'm sure of it,
Not many get to live in making livings,
I lost my crown when I took the first hit,
Of the things that killed the cardboard kings.
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