Another morning comes
And I shift my thoughts to entering
Into battle…into the scrape,
The screaming, maddening, rage of chaos
And it’s crushing me
“Bless you for all you do” , they say…
They have no idea what I do—
They don’t know the draining, ceaseless torrent
Of waiting for the next tantrum
Or the next attack…or holding things together when
They wont hold together anymore…
When the fabric of sanity has worn through….
They marched us back from the nightmare,
To deal with nightmares of our own;
They threw us back—knowing full well there was danger
With no interests except their own….
They marched us back….and said “you’re the best”…then left us to fall
Because, after all,
we are expendable.
There was a time when I first started
That my passions and skills were high
There was a time I made a difference…
But, in this time, that may mean I die.
But I march on to the arena….and without a choice
Without a voice.
There are many of us, I know this,
Who want to lay down our swords and books
Who want to be done fighting in this arena
And who tire of all the looks
of fear and pain and confusion, and who
From day to day,
And torment after torment,
See freedom so far away
But the world doesn’t work that way for teachers,
We’re expected to hold and stand
Taking our lives, our families and our futures
In “trust” to a “Board of Governor’s” hand;
That doesn’t care a whit for us
If truth be plainly said…
Who just needs bodies standing there in place
Until the arena is lined with dead.
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