A Clash of Decades
He struts about the lecture hall
As an actor would a stage
A student squirms, ill at ease,
As a bird would in her cage;
Yet unlike any thespian
He does mean what he says –
Ideas spring forth from his mouth
Unordered, just a mess!
He claims to know what makes
The world go round: he says “Hey, hey it’s love!”
Does he know what “love” ver’ly means
Or is he ‘blivious there, above?
A child of his time he is, a time
When tradition was suspect;
A time when feelings ruled as king
At authority they’d peck;
And their brains shrank and withered
As they “thought through” from their gut;
And all their gods and goddesses
To their elders were but nuts;
Alas, their parents had to go
Thus all we have are they;
These crinkled grandparents of ours
So-called “heroes” of their day;
Gone are the times when men shed blood
For what was true and fair –
Our professor and his ilk? Well, well
They dare not venture there!
As for my peers, they do desire
To cling on every word he says
In their longing to get good grades
To emulate him is the best.
Yet like a fool she stands apart
One pupil, but unknown;
Outside she follows everyone, but
She’s different, to the bone;
Fed up with having been force-fed
With nothing but half-truths;
Her trap she does snap open
Wide with questions – they ain’t moot!
And then, the old man there up front
Can’t help but surely shudder:
“How dare this girl should batter down
My theories about the ‘Other’?”
“No ‘ffense, sir” she does bluntly blurt
“And with all due respect,
The ‘Other’ could be wrong
Is there not something else we lack?
Humans ain’t that perfect
You say to them we must give due;
But surely you must mean
We must be JUST now, sir – or do you?
For we can’t just react all the time
To them, to do so would be folly
We can’t be kind and tolerant
To all; Hey, some are bullies!”
And the old man says to himself
“This fool, she does make sense;
But should I acquiesce to her,
Won’t that make me look dense?
I know! I’ll simply say big words
To make this lass look stupid,
I’ll make it look as though her thoughts
Came from the days of Cupid!
Ha-ha! This silver tongue I wield as
Both a spoon and gleaming sword;
As spoon I shall feed them what I know
As sword I shall then cut her down with nothing but my words!”
And so his lie perpetuates
Itself, yes, e’en to this day;
Yet from what’s true this girl
Refuses e'en a bit to stray;
Through the lonely, rocky way
She had to learn it all;
The truth, the truth, and just the truth
To her classmates seem but dull;
She vows revenge; hey, she’ll be back
But she won’t do it as they do!
She’ll soak herself with classic thoughts
And hit them with what IS true.
For no one could dispute the fact
That what is IS what is;
What’s true could be painful, yet
Truth’s “painful” can be bliss.