Something 111
Sweaty palms scribbling
On blank pages
Feeding the egotist desire
To surpass another
A bell tolls the end
Of a race without winners
Looks of anticipation
In doubtful eyes
Casting shadows of hope
On tired faces
As blank pages
Pile up like small towers
The future waits outside...
A confused generation
Walks out of the hallways
Through narrow corridors
To conquer
The world and all the oceans
And chronicle their stories
On blank pages
vineleafboldsw