Feathers: A Book of Poetry

Once

There once was a boy
with stars in his head
they'd twinkle and chime
when he was in bed
since in daylight,
there was too much around
for him to smile at his thoughts,
and for hearing their sound

But he shared his ideas,
his quirks and his dreams,
he viewed the world's rips
as possible seams,
and he shared his bright smile
with the sky and the sun,
thinking life was a beauty,
that life would be fun
And at night when the Moon
reigned over the sky
he'd feel Hope's gentle caress
soft on his eyes
and he'd see himself
as he wanted to be,
changing the world
while chasing his dreams

He opened his mind
to learning and art
knowing in his dream future,
they'd play a part,
and he made himself friends
and taught them to see
that dreams can turn real,
creativity's key
and their eyes shone wide
with sudden aware
that the world was so beautiful,
so in need of care
and they looked at the sky
not as something they're under,
but something to reach for,
to spark a nice hunger
and the boy softly smiled
for this was his goal,
to help others see possibility
not as fragments, but a whole

But one day this changed.

Sleep changed from dreams
to an act of fatigue,
he realized he gave
and now has nothing to keep,
he realized the world
was not as nice as it seems,
that it beats him down hard,
that its full of fiends,
and there's no time for hope
in a life so in need
of money, of duty,
of better deeds,
and the young boy inside him,
once full of joy,
chipped and crumbled,
since, well, now he was employed,
and that's quite a big deal,
since he had
new responsibility,
which leaves no room
for possibility,
and he batted away
Hope's fingers at night,
thinking it would only cause him
a new plight,
wrapping close a blanket,
closing his mind,
to serve only a fortress
of titles he was to find,
and he no longer learned
since he believed he had no need,
for a job is a job,
a deed is a deed,
people now sat
in their own selfish desires,
searching for more and more
to acquire,
and dreams were no longer
a personal sight,
but something he saw (rarely)
in the depths of the night

And the boy thought,
no, not boy, just this man,
that something would happen,
since he had this plan,
but where is its end?
Where does it reward?
He ignored the question
and ticked his clipboard
feeling not joy
but satisfaction
in his work, in his life,
of taking no action
to strive for a better,
since it could turn worse,
and that fear gripped to him
and that was his curse,
never taking a step forward
fearing a wall
that of course,
might not even be there at all.


There once was a boy with stars in his head.

People told him to grow up.

So he did.

The end.