Noises of academia hang in the room

Shuffled by the artificial breeze

The chatter echoes, and echoes

Down the halls and the grooves of my hair

Reminding, resounding that  

We should be better

We want better and that alone is a form of  I Love You

To be etched into the minds of the little ones scurrying along the walls of this room

Looking for cracks that could lead to something, somewhere, out

But there’s nothing to be gleaned here anyways

Nothing that will come out of these desks, and these walls

And the crayons that roll against their plaster

No challenge or fight arising from these children born of love

Eating from lunch boxes made of love

Dressed in their favorite colors and animals

Sitting here my work is to watch, and I’m making note

Of the instances where love isn’t an answer

And can’t seem to find a way out of its failure.