Child’s Dream ( A Poem)

A child’s dreams are carefully oxidized,

Into the formation of a leather chair

And high mahogany desk.

Then with pure audacity

They are quick to answer,

What’s next?

 

What is left,

When the dream is stripped

From out of a child’s hand.

When you take their hopes

And their ambition

And trounce it into the ground?

 

What is left when happiness

Is no longer sought

When a child is told to forget about joy

And employ the love of  money instead.

 

When a child is told

Don’t you dare cry,

For that’s weakness knocking at your door

And compassion is made to seem

A burden,

Like kindness and goodwill

Is really just a rope

Tied around a pretty little neck

And choking the life out of some.

 

What is left,

When we exchange toys  

For emphatically expensive clothes

And imagination

For fact and reason.

Be Meticulus,

Be Responsible

Look at the great thinkers of old

And emulate their success

And understand not their philosophy.

When was it not imagination

That first caused humanity to discover fact

 

Were it not for imagination

Would we have looked into the heavens

And wondered what lay up there.

 

Were it not for imagination

Would humanity have believed that it could fly

Building the first airplane

 

Were it not for imagination

Would we have believed in the divine

Building beautiful monuments

To connect to the spirit world

 

Were it not for imagination

Would we have designed the first car,

Built the first horse and buggy

 

Were it not for imagination

Would we have sought medical advancements

And built telecommuncation devices

Internet connects and computers

 

Were it not for imagination

Would humanity have attempted the first

Open heart surgery.

 

Were it not for imagination

Would humanity have discovered

That making love could

Be a simple as a kiss

And public display of affection

 

Were it not for imagination

Would humanity have discovered

The ability to create the suns energy

On planet earth,

Creating fire.

 

Were it for imagination

Would we have discovered

The simple pleasure of musical notes

Bounding off of all portions of our

Physiological and psychological cortex

 

Or learned the power of faith

Through prayer.

 

We have built entire industries

Off of the need to create inspired outcomes

While crushing the very source of inspiration.

 

Telling our children

That happiness,

Isn’t enough,

 

Telling our children

That it’s not enough to just be a child

One must strive to be

A man or woman of stone.

 

Fusing our offspring with

The metallic touch tone

Of a technological button

 

Because there’s nothing more precious

Than a child who’s been molded into perfection

Created in the image of the glare of the screen.

 

When did we begin assembling our children

Like they were spare parts

To a remarkable vehicle

With a lack of ingenuity.

 

Somewhere along the way

We became too adult,

Too busy preserving our intellect

And neglecting to infuse this intelligence

With the wisdom of our childhoods.

 

Melodic Rose

 

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