(I wrote this poem when I was in grade eight or nine. Nostalgia.)
Walking across the hall with quick steps,
there are bustles of noise and shouts,
go a bit deeper and further,
a pyramid of dreams in the midst of everything.
There's a bit of hope for something,
so very difficult to reach
As a bridge is built to cross,
the dream crumbles down slowly.
First a grain, then some chips,
And more and more blocks,
tumble, tumble, rumble, rumble,
To the pits of sand, blown away.
What happened to that vision?
A visionary turned sour,
facing the crush of reality,
There's nothing that can be done.
Desperately, trying to rescue,
Thinking of the possibilites.
Every shot brought down to its end,
Only time can tell what was right and wrong.
Peering out that little window,
A tiny coniferous tree stirs the sky.
Wonder for quite a while,
Now count down till it comes.
Patiently, quietly, gently,
Holding down all thoughts.
For sure, another day will pass,
Tomorrow is the perfect anticipation.
