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forrest

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

1 poem·Since February 2014
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Changing Forrest

February 16, 2014

Changing Forrest 

 

All my life I have heard, run Forrest run!

You can't see the Forrest for the trees!

None compared to the you's and me's.

You's are the future, the hidden unknown, the catalyst, thrust

Upon me, the rights the wrongs.

Me's are the quarries, the librty of roads not traveled,

The burning destiny of Forrest Nightingale, the physician, waiting to take

flight

To, run, Forrest Run.

A tragedy, one, two, then three, perhaps, commanded me here, 

To, rescue, to save, to change, if not the human spirit, then the body,

When I am a man, the physician, unto thine self will be true.

I will dream today, until tomorrow, when I will protect and they will 

Say, run, Dr. Forrest, run, 

to the you's and  to grip the me's 

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