Left, ticking on the clock,
just like through the looking glass
where Alice used to wait -for something to happen,
learn something new and shiny and bright
without the pressures from the Queen.
Hearts beating, rhythm constant,beat, beat, beat… tick, tick, tick;
and yet hands fly across the page.The silence; weighted, axes
above their necks, listening
for orders to come from above
and bring them slicing down.
They thought treason had caused their fate
but they just ran out of time.
Pens dropping with clatters and the sighs,
an orchestra of voices, spiralling
through air and thoughts, fears and hopes.They don’t know which bottle to drink,
if the cake can be trusted -
desperation makes it easy to click the ruby heels
and pray that home is close by.
Labels wrap themselves around
the pinky finger of each lost soul;they tried – they really, really tried,
in investigations, complex mazes,
to answer everything you asked.
But it’s finished now,
the war is done. Come out from under cover.
Alice is back in the real world,this IB exam is over.
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