Dirty walls and too-small desks,
Ceilings that don’t quite hit the wall,
Ill-lit corridors that somehow constrict a man.

From the split sidewalk to classrooms plain,
The smell of cheap air freshener tries
To hid an abundance of coffee laden breath.

Some eagerly accept simplicity as profound,
Both those who learn and those who teach,
One taking from the other far less than expected.

They drive by the lake everyday, but never look.
Just as they hear but refuse to listen.
Surely a stronghold of philosophers still exists?

They walk through the halls differently somehow,
Caring not for grades or even knowledge,
But prize questions, and wondering best.