A young boy studies pre-med
to become a doctor, he said
Back hunched over facts punched
in his mind, courses never too kind
That was once a dream of white coats and stethoscopes
but has now become one of shuffles and ball-changes.
Lights rain on his figure, music absorbs the atmosphere
Who said you mustn't change your focus
or take the road less travelled by
The yellow wood held the choice of walking the paved path or laying the tar on your own
But I’ve been told tar isn’t something you should touch
that it can ruin the very order of a society
Eating away like acid at the conveyer belt which carries the ultimate propriety
It stains the fingertips with vision and leaves a fume of imagination
tempting the being to lay just a little more tar to find the end of the horizon
They say it’s necessary to keep a level chin riding across the belt
because the slightest tilt toward the sky would remind a person of how the clouds
never seem to create the same form twice and resemble the lightness of individuality
So, let us all give in to the sky.
Let us allow for ourselves to dwell in the vastness, lifting our heads so high that we topple
backwards affecting the manufactured mind behind us
The inspiration of our daydream will create a domino affect along the assembly line
making "monotony" a word of the past
And like that young boy who once studied pre-med, we will all dance in our own way toward
the clouds where we have our residence.
A place filled with the unknown but the known that we must follow our dreams
from now until the future tense.