Poetic Madness in the Making

The Next Generation, The Molded Race

The Molded Race

What do you want to be?

Where do you see yourself in the years to come?

Think about your future

You have to be this; you have to be that

And the list tumbles inevitable  on

Doesn’t anyone live, in the moment anymore?

Yes we know that it’s important

To carve our path in history for the future

But are we to lock away our childhood in the process?

I hear it now the tears of our given up past

Locked tightly away in that top draw

It’s time to grow up!

Don’t they know that not everyone can be doctors?

Not everyone was meant to be

Trapped in the thought of studies

If this were so who would write our novels

Dream up our motion picture

Create the paintings that moves us

And leaves us beyond words

We would be left without the simplicity of life

That acts as the binding foundation for all else

There is no denying that we are the future generation

But with this added burden of creating a better tomorrow

Is it forgotten that we need to enjoy the soon to be past?

To create the etch  memories that would build the walls in our future

We crave space to breathe to explore to go beyond the boundaries put in place

By the worries of what tomorrow brings

For only then can we formulate a plan for the future

Only then will we see its importance

This binding unspoken law that we each must succeed

Strangles and suffocates who we want to be

In a  world were paths are fashioned for us

Asked what we what to be; but ironically  

Pushed to be who they think we should be

What determines our success level?

The amount of money we make?

The car we drive?

Or is it based on accomplishing our hearts desires?

Is it structured on the note that each child is special

And has a right to live the way they choose

Without the pressure to be what society thinks they should be

Frowned at for not being perfect

Do they not realize that the simplest minds

Are the foundation for complexity.