Noisy classroom

History stinks under its bridges
There are flushed lives all along
with blood floating on water
in a grotesque design of plankton.
There is a squabble between
highs and lows that define us
about what to remember and
what not to, of our lilliputan efforts
on a drifting cosmic body in slumber.
We are home
We are alone
Whispering to each other
the answers to our existence
While there are more questions
shot back with fists
in this noisy classroom.