Monday has just come to pass,
The Wednesday morning of my life has come at last.
How, amongst the sparkly blanket of the sun on the trees,
Childhood cooled by the same skies breeze,
Can we find ourselves staring at the sun through plexiglass,
Feet on this linoleum earth, and beg ourselves to dig deeper
each time we fail?
Should the reminder of careless mill run adventure on every leaf
Become desensitized in order for societies dream for me to prevail?
From the novice lives every day a force which pulls them, this way.
Pulls them to a future carved out of golden money and silvered hair,
Free of music, always fair, never there.
But, I know very well,
Kings of old bore crowns of wood and sticks, not gold,
And carved their own bodies likewise, that the light through any window
Can always sprout their leaves anew.
For I, not the cover but the seed beneath the skin,
spend every day not being pulled by the winds of society,
but pushing it one step closer to the sunshine I always knew.
(Likewise, no fire can stop this, we grow through blackened ash)