To My Children's Dreams
You! Dream Maker!
Emissary of the hinterlands,
dancing boldly before bright eyes -
halt your capricious prance and mutable sway.
Behold your subject in its reverie:
bright little engineer with wooden blocks,
ballerina dancer on pointed toes,
crayon artist in feverish fray,
melody maker pounding pot and pan drums -
these dreamers, embodied in hope eternal,
are the unhindered ones in abandon,
constructing skyscraper dreams of luminous hues,
drenched in the freshlight fragrance of possibilities,
wheeling from transport to transport without constraint,
denizens in the land of the limitless.
Rationale has not yet hindered their faith,
no dull acquiescence shackles their belief,
these are becoming the becoming
beneath your halted gaze.
But you - you have a grave responsibility, shapeshifter.
You are ambassador to these visionaries.
You are a roaring fire to light and warm,
the lodestar shepherd to fate and destiny.
As you navigate the verisimilitude,
it’s natural to lose some of yourself,
to refine and wear thin with work and trade,
but let this be a warning to you:
If you, in collusion with this pragmatic world,
wane your way toward the cold path of logic,
if you cower under the glare of derision
and your dancing steps stutter, falter, and faint,
surrendering yourself to the reducers,
(those who love to shrink your fabled aura),
if you abandon the great work you have started,
you will not exit this world so easily.
When your last flame flickers and dissipates,
as the quench of your final ember singes,
and your smoke black soul whisps its escape skyward
attempting to disappear into the ether, unaffected,
I will fly from my abode of restlessness,
collect your vapored remnants unto myself
and drag your soul unto me, to torment forever,
deep within the grave of my buried somedays.