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Ancient names rest on the white board, sketched out

with loving care, hoping one day someone

will listen to their words, minus all the clout,

ignoring test scores and after school groans,

some one will sit and try to read their minds

and the thoughts that they left there, all wrapped up in

pretty words, all these thoughts they left behind,

never knowing who would care or listen.

When they look down and see discouragement,

looking down from their white columns in the sky

they long to come down from that firmament

they long to come down, and to ask you “why?”,

         “Because,” we say, and that’s all there will be,

         and we’ll walk off, playing Angry Birds 3