Three Thematic Poems:
Every child is born with a dream stuffed
Securely into their souls, much like a
Doll tucked under the covers of a faded
Baby blanket by chubby, fragile little fingers.
Every child knows what it is to peer past the fabric
Of the world and try to see beyond into a realm of
Hopes and whispered wishes no adult can touch.
They don't understand the secretive nature of
A dream planted deep into a child's heart, grown
By the watering of time and nurture given when a
Child spends time alone, thinking naively of the future.
Every child knows what it is to climb a tree and
Hide away in its branches, the rustle and creak of the tree
Fighting her chubby weight as she leans back into the trunk
And looks out at the world and
Views it through a pair of optimistic glasses.
Nothing, nothing could threaten to ruin her dream.
But every adult knows what it is to see that dream shattered.
A dream crushed by reality, snatched from innocent hands,
Crumpled up, tossed away into a waste basket filling with the
Broken dreams of others who, with the crinkle and groan of
Fading inner hopes and desires, are now forced to grow up
And live in a world where dreams are nothing but a mere
Existence of childish fairy tales not meant for adult minds.
And so time passes. Life goes on,
But a mere shadow of its previous self,
With adults sore for the memory of their forgotten
Dreams and children oblivious to the fact that
Their hopes must also, soon, be crumpled like a badly penned note.
And most of the time the lost dreams wither away completely,
Torn from the roots and left to decay in the muggy summer sun,
Charred and ruined past hope of survival until they are purged
Completely from the soul.
But some dreams are only torn out on the surface. The
Roots remain, deep down and hidden, stretching and fighting
For a glimpse of sunlight, eager to catch every drop of moisture that
Dares penetrate the tangle of dormant dreams just hiding away
Like a child in a tree, where they know they are safe. And with
Each drop of moisture, with each sudden tremble of renewed hope,
The roots grow and thrive and fight their way toward the surface until
With opportunity flourishing itself at the door of a broken dream, hope
Snatches itself through the surface and bursts forth in bloom, aching and
Shaking out its wears and tears, gulping in the fresh air of renewed strength
Found only in the rediscovery that a dream can survive after all
If given time and patience, waiting for the right moment to be revived.
For most adults throw away their dreams, tricked by the world to think
That dreams are nothing but childish material needing to be discarded in
The presence of maturity and responsibility, lost in a world where
Work and stress prevail, with hours deprived of play and substance.
But some adults realize the true potential of their dreams
And only get rid of them at surface levels,
Pretending to believe as the others do but secretly
Nourishing and feeding their hopes and childish daydreams
Just in case, one day, it would come about that their dreams could come true.
And these, who save their dreams, are the ones who end up truly happy
In a world where happiness is said to perhaps be nonexistent. Must one wonder
Why, if most dreams are uprooted, crumbled, and tossed?
2. The Problem of a Dream Oppressed
There are moments in life when real happiness must be hidden.
There are times when grasping freedom is more dangerous than tucking it away.
Sometimes longings cannot be realized when life demands sweat instead of play.
Desires often must be relinquished when hopes and dreams are forbidden.
When personal truth is ripped out and tucked away, one must decide:
Is it better to live a life unfaithful to the dreams and desires borne by innocence,
Shoving away the skeleton of a human structure formed by hope's resonance?
Or should one fight for what they desire, pushing all elsewhere aside?
To those who stifle their dreams, laying youthful wishes to rest for the sake of age,
Consider what it might mean to unearth a buried desire, to shake it out lest
It gets too dusty. A bit of rust, a bit of ache, a dream oppressed inside a cage,
Might make the happiness seem withered; so polish it up, then pin it to your breast.
There is redemption in rejecting the shadow brought by a facade--nothing but an actor on a stage--
To rediscover a previous desire, freedom returned by dreams on fire, and live life to the fullest.
3. Youthful Visions
A host of flower petals unfurl, colored by the warm fingers of spring,
As pollen and rich earthen smells mingle in strains through the hazy air.
Bees swathed with obsidian and gold into a new world take eager wing,
To join with this new birth of fresh beauty and tangle in love's ensnare.
Youth, innocently naive, sprawls in the grass; her eyes drink lessons from nature.
Darkened hands fist the earth at her hips while the aroma of blossoms tickle her nose.
The world to her eyes has been painted a diluted red, she lays where there is no danger,
For the earth is her playground and the sky her freedom, and bees in petals fanciful prose.
Daydreams of romance swirl around inside her breath like a comfortable summer spray,
Visions of love consumes her sight, drawing her with blind hope into the arms of a trance.
Grass tickles soft and plush between bare toes, and the branches of blooming trees sway
Above her head, stooping to sow love ideas into her heart and claim her soul in a dance.
Her dreams and desires reach down into her very core, planted deep as tree roots,
And watching the romantic waltz of bees and blossoms, a yearning for her own love shoots.
These were written by: Anna Masrud
