A young boy studies pre-med

to become a doctor, he said

Back hunched over facts punched

in his mind, courses never too kind

That was once a dream of white coats and stethoscopes

but has now become one of shuffles and ball-changes.

Lights rain on his figure, music absorbs the atmosphere

Who said you mustn't change your focus

or take the road less travelled by

The yellow wood held the choice of walking the paved path or laying the tar on your own

But I’ve been told tar isn’t something you should touch

that it can ruin the very order of a society

Eating away like acid at the conveyer belt which carries the ultimate propriety

It stains the fingertips with vision and leaves a fume of imagination

tempting the being to lay just a little more tar to find the end of the horizon

They say it’s necessary to keep a level chin riding across the belt

because the slightest tilt toward the sky would remind a person of how the clouds

never seem to create the same form twice and resemble the lightness of individuality

So, let us all give in to the sky.

Let us allow for ourselves to dwell in the vastness, lifting our heads so high that we topple

backwards affecting the manufactured mind behind us

The inspiration of our daydream will create a domino affect along the assembly line

making "monotony" a word of the past

And like that young boy who once studied pre-med, we will all dance in our own way toward

the clouds where we have our residence.

A place filled with the unknown but the known that we must follow our dreams

from now until the future tense.