Dragging our steps to school,
Is surely something we despise to do.
Often, our senses desire other satisfactions, true?
“Anything, BUT school”, we choose.
We’re blinded by our own lenses!
Fooled by our own “know-it-all”-senses.
The news, the negative views we choose breathe in,
Brings life to a cursing critic from within.
It only takes a U-turn in our naïve perspectives.
May your virtual views hold you not as captives.
The point of you coming to class,
Is the point of this poem becoming a must.
On the way to school,
Mould a new passion each day in the bus,
Refresh your mind before it turns to dust.
Your soul will appreciate and assure you just.
Drowned yourself each day with your passion,
Till there is no space for any zero-valued addition.
If you have no clue why you’re even at this institution,
You’re wasting 5 years or 1825 days of your youth potion.
It’s not the day’s fault that you find it stuffed with boredom,
Truth be told, for it was Created in utter perfection.
PS: It’s you who lived it out with no passion.
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