Growing Up

I can not see to see

What I just might be

An artist, a doctor, an athlete, or what?

All I need is will, and a little bit of luck

When I was eight years old i dreamed

I let my imagination soar

The world had many paths

And oh so much more

But now that I am twice that age

My hopes begin to die

For all numbers are much greater than

Imaginative lies

Lies will get you no where, see

Although, I failed to see

Delusions clouded perception

Of my reality

So on and on, I told these lies

to no one else but me

Dreaming, scheaming, many things

which would never come to be

Life is simply all too dull

There must be fantasies

One hopes and tries to make a spark

They can not let it be.

But I am one of these many

for which I often speak

I often cant accept the truth

Because it's sad and meek

And saddness is the root of this

from which I cant escape

The trunk of this absorbs the tears

And leaves are filled with hate.