Revolution

Enlightenment to Romanticism Literature Course (2002)

Sitting in a stuffy room,
Wondering sadly if there is more to this,
Starched empty lines on my notepad
Invitingly open up to my imagination
as the pen hovers above them

Inspired poets, deep philosophical authors,
Long dead, their elegy: their writing,
Torn apart by dull-eyed students
who don't really care.

Those explorers of the imagination
Did they foresee the droning drawl
In which their art is spoken of?
The dry, parched words of analysis,
That tear at meanings, feelings,
Torn apart by dull-eyed lecturers
Who don't really give a damn
And open doors to only vast white rooms of boredom.

I want to be out there, not in here,
free to be myself and drink in their words
Let their spirits wash over me
Bringing new life to the plain black print,
Splashing pinks and yellows onto the plain white walls.

There is magic, colour, drama
In the words
That in this room
Are painted so magnolia.

These the radical revolutionaries
What would they say
If they heard the way
Their striking manifestoes are discussed
In shades of unfeeling mediocrity?