Updated: Feb 2
I study the bumps and dents in the ceiling
like stars that seem as close,
like you could almost touch their surface;
and I can. I can reach up
from my cloud-like bed
and run my fingers through a sparkling sea.
see the ripples in the navy-blue yonder,
the light glittering as if it were made by itself
with no reflected help, it’s original luminescence
sparks my interested passion and twinkles in my blue-rimmed, green eyes.
I’m mesmerized. I’m reaching.
I’m a heaven-touching space cadet,
not even obtaining my full potential
but I will. I WILL walk on the moon.
I’ll leave footprints for my grand-babies to find.
And they’ll reach even further—they’ll stake claim to Mars!
Because the future is ours—inheritance if we
would take the chance—not second-guessing,
but giving second glances
to childhood fantasies, days fill with pretending
we could fly, we could ride, we could slay, we could be
anything we could see.
and we can see it still—
the daydreamers and overcomers.
reach out. go on, kiddo. touch them—the realities we create.
they’re only as real
as we’ll let them be.