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How many unheard voices
Walk the halls
Of my high school?

How many burning passions
Mark the hearts
On this street?

How many dreams, ambitions
Hide beyond those
Blank faces?

How many children’s words
Go so very, very
Unheard?

And how many,
Oh, how many,
Ever get the chance
To tell the truth?

Walking the same way
Every day
Speaking the same words
Repeatedly
Learning the same things
All the time
Waiting for all the things
That are to come “after” work is finished
Wisps, faint as smoke, of the dreams that are never realized, the hearts that are broken,
The tears that are shed, the lies we tell ourselves, the things that reach, and reach,
Only to tear and fall
Waiting for the day after tomorrow, the time beyond this week, the places down the road from this bleary workload
How many hours wasted?
How many foolish math problems, useless chores, unending falsities of worth and value?

For who are we to decide
What is important
What talents should earn money
What skills should go to college
Which people are worth the effort
What mindless, stretching wastes are supposed to be necessary?
It is Godless, it is ruin
It is the invisible shroud of what we don’t become, the vast, dusty space of what we don’t fulfill
It is distaste, it is a mask
And oh, god, it’s a tragedy.

So many places left unseen
So many sunsets gone, unlearned from
So many habits, idiosyncrasies, we’ve been bred to ignore
Storerooms of people we don’t see
So many foods we never eat, and shawls we never try, and eyes we never gaze into
So many unopened boxes, so many cold, dangerous homes,
So many markets, gays and races and guns and arts and churches and soda and freckles and toil and realities, and dust and time and hats, and scrolls and teepees and butterflies, so many, oh so many.
Such is the manner in which true importance is lost forever.