Dead to the outside, as paint dries,
From the walls that called boys to learn
And girls to speak Germanic pentameters,
Fanaticism in the pure form,
How strange to see a window empty,
Of life and board and chalk and song,
Longing to belong from the lips
That a generation chimed nursery rhymes
To Apple phones over synthetic hard drives.
How silent the rooms are,
The chitter chatter that nattered
A clatter tattered group
In Beatle lyrics and soul
Has died inside the spell.
Tell tale signs of age afallen,
A pupil’s hat stoolstand creaking,
Cobwebbing, weeping, peeping,
Stairwell cares of yesteryears
And don’t you dare’s.
This used to be a tome
To learn, to love, to find oneself,
Inside the pages of a favourite book,
Look, the shadow’s moved away,
Styling the staircase in darker traits.