Philosophical

I am like a student 
who is kept after school 
but I must stay 
for a lifetime. 
And I am sentenced 
to write 
on the dusty chalkboard 
that is my heart, 
these following words: 
LOVE 
STRUGGLE 
JUSTICE 
FREEDOM 
And I am still writing 
although my hand 
is becoming cramped 
(nothing can cramp my style). 
And although my shoulders are sagging. 
I move the crubling chalk, 
scrawling the eternal script: 
LOVE 
STRUGGLE 
JUSTICE 
FREEDOM 
Thus, I continue 
with determination 
weary, but compelled. 
While I wonder, 
what was the infraction 
that binds me to such a task? 
Is it merely 
that I am guilty of- 
being a dreamer.

Guilty of...