Future Poem by Miranda Oney

Sunlight rays through the shield,
staring out into the field.
Listen not to futures call,
freedom rights seem so small.
Trees of green and brown and red,
tis the season of the dead.
Working men all in the dirt,
checkered patterns on the shirt.
Bring the numbers one by one,
don't be distracted by the sun.
Grand chair of maroon hue,
nothing ever seems here new.
'Booger-Bears' are worked on hard,
mind of glass breaks off a shard.
Zone in and out of lecture hear,
sleeping boy is also near.
Light of knowledge, O light of light
doesn't show nearly as bright.
Tired of things we never use,
most end up taking a snooze.
Dimly lit candles of our great minds,
our prison is stealthy with it's tight binds.
We are the future as it is laid,
with all of this knowledge, be very afraid.