Every lesson you teach,
Will split at the seams,
As though the stitching,
Was never there to begin with,
Each question hanging in silence,
And confusion,
Like water soaked up in a ceiling tile,
There will be a leak up there you didn't, couldn't, see,
And your talents will break beneath their own weight,
And collide with the floor,
It will look as if you didn't try,
As hard as you did.
And there will be those who wanted,
To see you taken down a notch or two,
And they will see it,
And you will see a sigh of relief,
From the faces watching,
As the last drops of water,
Go down the drain,
But there's an old story -
About the burning of Troy,
And Aeneas - The loser who left,
Knowing something was ahead,
For the sake of what was behind,
And thus Troy moved on, and became Rome,
And the Romans we do remember,
They are still measurable, you've seen their buildings,
In person, or in pictures on glossy magazine pages,
They existed outside the will of the gods,
And outside the tales told,
Before humans wrote,
And you too will remember,
For the sake of what is ahead.
