There once was a man who was bound to the ground,  a man who was tied to the Earth.  But one day he sighed as he looked to the sky and wished he could fly like a bird.  He ran and he ran with his arms spread wide as he tried to mimic their wings.  He flittered and fluttered and flapped till he muttered, "this is not as easy as it seems."  He sat and he thought and he thought a little more about how these birds took flght. So he concocted a plan to be an avian man, and he would try it later that night.  He fashioned a pair of avian wings that he covered with paper mache.  He then strapped a rocket with a wrench and a socket to the skates he bought earlier that day.  He lined himself up on his makeshift strip made of mud, rocks, and dirt, and for a few brief moments after the rocket was lit, this man lifted his feet from the Earth.  With the rocket fuel gone and his speed vanishing fast, this man did not know what to do.  For this was the first time a man had broke free from the shackles of the world that he knew.

He was found the next day in an old farmers field with his paper mache wings in shreds, the farmer who found him would yell to his wife, "call the coroner I believe this man's dead." After hearing the commotion and the hustle and bustle, this man had caused quite a stir.  He awoke quite profound as he quickly discovered he was being loaded up into a hearse.  He awoke with scream and a smile set in as the people surrounded the car.  "I DID IT I DID IT," he exclaimed with excitement as he told his adventures thus far.  He told the towns people, the farmer, the coroner, his tale about his flying machine.  How he strapped a rocket with a wrench and a socket, and how he lashed his arms to his wings.  The people grew anxious and they hung on his words like a coat that is donning a rack, "men can not fly" they responded to him, and to this he was taken aback.  The people dispersed mocking and joking about the crazy man they had saw, but the man sat still on the gurney he was on, completely incapcitated by awe.  He went back to his home with his makeshift strip and the remants of the paper mache.  He angrily cried as he began clearing his mind and started to throw the idea away.  "Maybe its true that a man can not fly, so it must have all been a dream, but if thats the case, then why am I bruised and my clothes are ripped at the seams. I know I did fly like the birds in the sky, and my proof is undoubtably clear. But the only person who knows the truth I behold is the person that is standing right here.  

For a second attempt this man took the time to make wings out of paper mache.  He then layered them with feathers he bought and he found on his travels the very same day.  He then fashioned more rockets with wrenches and sockets to a new pair of skates that he bought.  He then wore a suit that flared out like a chute and he "would "FLY" this time" he thought.  He lined himself up on his makeshift strip made of mud, rocks and dirt, and for a few long hours after the rockets were lit he lifted his feet from the Earth.  He soared, and soared, like an eagle does fly, high up into the clouds.  He nodded to the people as he flew over head and he was greeted by cheering and bows.  Once his rocket fuel waned and his speed became slow he descended down back to the Earth.  From a quarter till 7 until half past 11, this man was flying with mirth.  Many years later as he lye in his bed, dying of natural cause. He told his grand daughter of the success and the fodder of the brilliant young man that he was. "Darling come close as I dont have much time to tell you about many more things, but here is a feather I plucked from the flight that I made with my paper mache wings."  He closed her hand and put it near her heart as he made his final decree, "Sweet heart dont ever think that you cannot fly and youre bound to the ground like me. Fly to the moon, fly to the stars if that is what you so desire, become what you dream about what you are, and you will rise ever higher."

This poem is my portrayal of the response society has given to me when I tell them about my dream.  For many years, I have wanted to become a pilot and I have read books and done simulators about flying planes.  To fly a plane and to be above the world is something that has always intrigued me, however when I tell people about this dream of mine, it is not always met with acceptance.  My friends ridicule me for my dream of being a pilot claiming that "I am not smart enough to fly a plane."  I have never given their arguments much merit, and I am trying to pursue my dream through the Army.  I was in the Army ROTC program at Robert Morris University and because of circumstances out of my control, I am not in the program or even at RMU any more.  I am now at Ball State University trying to transfer to Loras College to play football, which is my 2nd passion, and it is becoming increasingly hard to pursue my dreams of flight.  I am submitting this work to Power Poetry because being a pilot for the United States Army would be a dream come true.  Having faced a mountain of adversity in my own life, I know now that becoming a pilot would change my life forever.  No longer would I have to face ridicule or fight for the acceptance of my peers in what I plan for my future, because being a pilot you have the open skies at your mercy, and I can make my life an adventure.  I know i need alot of schooling to accomplish my goal, and my family is behind me 110%!! I cant even call being a pilot a job, because it is so much more than that to me. To me, being a pilot is like changing your lifetstyle, and that is a lifestyle change that I could get behind.