Placid in a yellow classroom;

Brains flacid, no bellows, no crassness.

Their lives in a calm, yellow classroom.

Good God, how I want to be free!

Brick walls, red but painted and cracking;

Toned up, yellow portraits collapsing.

My life in a used, yellow classroom.

Great God, how I pray to be free!

Adults, hair once vibrant, yet graying;

Worn hands no longer hesitating.

All their lives in an old, yellow classroom.

Dear God, are they ever truly free?

The students begin coming late 

The floors, the desks deteriorate

Tears sink into the floor of the classroom.

Whose are they; yellow streaks flowing down?

Outside the trees tremble and reach

For the clouds, which bellow and screech

Leak their rage into the worn, yellow classroom.

Empty, the students long gone.

Soon, the storm subsides.

Yet no repairs are made inside.

Forgone, the once-yellow classroom

Unplacid, destroyed and alone.

Every once in a while i visit;

I paint the walls gray and I sit in.

When I leave my forgotten gray classroom,

I’ll ask God if I really am free.

The flowers will begin their blooming;

The gardens cradling new students.

New life in a new, green classroom

Teaching the wind its new course.