Schism

    Working Monday through Friday,
    brain crunching
    in puppet's dress,
    I demand a room on the first floor
    of mundane Education Street,
    where every literate robot
    that opens books, 
    erases boards, 
    writes exams
    has triple my worth.
    Yet I walk between figured pages    
    they can't read,
    must clarify, shuffle, exist
    to feed the frenzy of ignorance.
    I tranquilize frustration
    climbing paper mountains,
    to precipices.
    I gazed below with distracted eyes 
    to a glass river 
    reflecting above me
    dense automatons.

C. Lawry Brown's Questions:

Do I convey clearly the point I am trying to get across in this poem?  Like the grasshopper and the ant, I was the ant of little value and they were the grasshoppers.  In this particular instance the grasshoppers were the winners.

As always, thank you for your comments.  They are very much appreciated.