Dulce et Decorum est in Discite Scholarum

March in lines of grey ties

Camouflaged in grey and black,

Till on the haunting flares you turn your back

Huddled like old beggars over schoolbooks

While a mind once at play learns to comply

With a system made of every possible lie.

Creativity dim through a misty pane of chalk,

A memory to plunge at me-

Guttering, choking, drowning.

My friend, if you could only see

These shrivelled saints, writhing in unwinding jumpers

Uttering a pledge they are too young to understand-

Being good little girls and boys, placing vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues-

My friend, you would not speak with such high zest,

Of this; our education system:

Dulce et decorum est in discite scholarumarum….


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