Flight of a Dreamer
A little boy, alone, pretending, plays;
Four trees a fortress, cloudy sky ablaze.
So pass his precious childhood summer days.
He's often praised for his creative mind.
"Imagination truly is they key,"
Explains his ever-prideful family,
"So never lose this treasured quality."
For talent such as his is rare a find.
The summer ends, uncounted years roll by,
And though the boy has never learned to fly
He also hasn't let his sundreams die -
Through them his heart stays faithful, young, and pure.
The world has other plans, though, so
Though he's unchanged, he's now told, "No."
These silly games he must outgrow.
He cannot play them anymore.
Routine recycles everyday,
But his mind always goes astray
To memories of adventurous play;
To times, to all but him, long dead.
The words of teachers, peers, and kin
Abase, degrade, belittle him;
He's stupid, hopeless, can't fit in,
In any place outside his head.
The criticism never ends,
But Earth and Nature are his friends.
He needs not wealth nor grades and spends
His days in dreams, more real somehow.
He's crushed time and again,
Locked in, left wondering when
This life was so right then,
Then WHY IS IT WRONG NOW?
He does as best he can
With his attention span,
But though he's now a man
He's dirt to every human eye.
He climbs the ocean rock he calls his own,
Looks out where endless sea meets sky's great dome.
In awe and joy he stands, and smiles; home,
And, finally, makes his first attempt to fly.
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