Prof

You say to think, speak, and create

Yet every time an idea comes to me

You tell me stop, I'm wrong, you get all irate

This is not your world, I can ask and infer

But what of system is it when ideas old as frankincense and mir

Are preached in classes, stuffed in our ears?

When new ideas are seen as things to be feared?

I don't think you believe me, I can see it in your eyes

But I also don't think expression is at its demise

You too were once like me, all open and bright

Wond'ring how you would give the world light

But teachers yelled that out of you, and theirs to them before

Now the battle between us and them rages on as a war

There are those few gems who give you an idea great

They actually help you to learn, search, and innovate

Those who don't want to just give it to you on a silver plate

It is they I thank and those I love, for they are the ones who I look at as above

But the system is winning, and more communication is needed

Not just teachers as gardeners, controlling kids from the moment they are seeded

So to those who I love, thank you greatly

And to those who have been brainwashed, you are not gone fatally