School is our prison.
A large brick building
Surrounded by gates
Topped with barbed wire.
Cameras watch our every move.

Outside the soft green grass
Is littered with weeds.
Dandelions, some yellow some white,
Flimsy stems bob in the wind.
A flower, considered a weed, easily defeated.

Towering pine trees release beds of needles,
Blanketing the track from above.
Its oval lanes are cracked from use,
Abused over time, still a symbol
Of hard work and dedication.

A bare tree looks dead at first glance.
Look harder, you see new growth.
Petals dance in the air as they rain down
Scattering among the ground,
Pink and white puddles pooling in a green sea.

An aged picnic table leans,
set aside from its surroundings.
It appears broken, for' it is crooked.
Two flagpoles stand tall and gray.
One bare, inside the gate.
The other flies the flag of freedom
Just out of reach, torturing the prisoners inside.

A stop sign stands
Between us and freedom.
Though deceiving, it says go.
Vandalized by the hope that
One day we will escape.