Prison or Protection

There are bars on the windows here. As I sit and view the outside world, I also look through the bars of the fence outside.
Inside the boundary, buildings are mostly grey, although the older ones are of red bricks that have eroded with time, and are now smooth to touch. A flash of bright orange catches my eye as the sun hits it. It is a power box - its utilitarian purpose belied by its colour.
There is enough green to be seen to keep my spirits up. Trees are clearly visible from where I sit but they are, with one exception, outside the fence. Grass grows within and has a lush appearance due to the recent rains, but it is at best patchy, dotted with areas of almost grey dirt, compacted by thousands of feet over many years.
Even though the populace is enclosed in a finite space, I can hear evidence of lively enthusiasm vibrating around me from all directions - shouts, laughter and sometimes running feet.
A bell rings and the predominant sound now indicates movement of hundreds of bodies in different directions. I collect my books and join them in order to share my knowledge and wisdom with yet another group of often unresponsive teenagers, who are more focussed on their lives of freedom, outside the bars.