Perpetual Suffering

The day was brief, and quick time flies,

Thunder booming, rain bucketing from the skies,

The stony classroom was set to thirty degrees,

We’ve spent five long hours without anything to eat.

Mr. Spring is as sturdy as sticks and stones,

Bulldozing us until we break our bones.

Conceited was he, assigning work pile by pile,

Terrorizing us with labor that’s not even worth our while.

Surrounded by closed windows and blue wallpapers,

As cobalt as the ocean and watery like vapor,

The covers on the wall feel like a hollow utopia,

The water drops behind it embolden a sloping melancholia.

“Focus wisely,” roared Mr. Spring, “The stakes are too high,

So time is not your friend, and neither am I”

The man of impulse grumbles in a deep hearty voice,

 “Review all of your answers, if you rely on the right choice.”

A thick book trying to grasp our attention,

Strained to undergo a thousand pages of apprehension,

Glaring at an exam when we should be in the open air,

Each question asked puts my peace to fatal despair.

Insignificant to a professor, solitary in the real world,

Trained to become a woman, no longer just a girl,

All things considered, I found my biggest rivalry:

The complex nature of perpetual suffering.