There once stood two lovers entrenched in the wind.
Yet, as the tides changed the feelings turned increasingly sour.
The joy that had once been rampant throughout the street and halls was long gone.
Soon the divide would widen, as time and space seemed to be in disrepair.
The wonder of the grand hall was waning like fresh snow in the heat of full sunshine.
The days run one into the other.
Time is a river and we are the oarsmen under constant strain.

The work was increasingly difficult and the grandeur of the grand hall had faded quickly.
All the hope had been perhaps, somewhat met.
The everyday struggle was the same, however responsibilities hastened the coming judgment.
It was indeed that said judgment that all have come to fear.
A type of paranoia that would bond our group of scholars into the same lot.
A band of warriors ill rewarded for our pain and suffering.
A troop like those of the old world.

Yes the fear was of pain I would suppose.
The pain was founded upon unstable emotions and changing states of enlightenment.
The fear of judgment sold our very souls into bondage.
A bondage that would enslave our intellect and ability.
Was our time in the grand hall for nothing?
This Apartheid is unknowingly killing our imagination.
Like a virus our underdeveloped imagination slowly kills our very culture.

The middle hall the most powerful in the junior high, proved the most sporadic in experiences.
Our faith in a better future not entirely met.
Lovers and rivals one in the same class.
None would remain in the end of our time in the grand hall.
Is the time wasted on efforts in the grand hall?
There was never a wasted hour, so long as we are one with love in our hearts.
We are the strong rocks, which endure the pain of the pebbles above.