His birth arrives in the dead of a night,
Temperate airs enwreathing wizened arbours,
Whose hopes were for months this season’s plight,
Calling faint echoes of which it was sure,
To soon resume their steadfast careers, Breathe clean draughts and consume exhaust.
Herald a child, a boy, new life treads here,
As the days start moulting off stifling frost:
Birth.
His parents left his ancestors’ cradle
To find home and work up north when able.
From the Chesapeake’s famous nestle,
Across the Susquehanna’s trestle,
Straight through Delaware via highway,
To a new state with a new place to stay.
A nice house, newborn just as he,
In a new world that he’d yet to see.
He was engrossed with this lane,
The street that even now pertains his life.
Playing with toy bricks and trains,
Without any signs or signals of strife.
Primary school begins in the morning,
To much a naive kid’s delight,
Worksheets littered with silly drawings
Showcase the child’s highlights,
Comprises a plethora of strange story arcs,
His creation produces its first marks
“What could be cooler to draw than sharks?”
He comes to love dinosaurs and the prehistoric lot,
Over them he had many books and toys bought.
The factoids coalesced into a catalogue,
One which he’d speak in monologues.
Diplodocus, Tenontosaurus, Hadrosaurus,
Kentrosaurus, Gallimimus, Carnotaurus;
Names in chords of thoughts played like a harp.
And so let the blunt mounds commix sharp.
Through them he learns to sincerely learn,
And what a joy to have ignorance spurned!
The (now) older child left for a school farther,
Where his friendships grew copiously larger.
These friends augmented together in a web,
Although most will alter or flow forth or ebb.
He writes a lot more yet does less longhand,
For more digital things are put into his hands.
Campouts in leisure as a Boy Scout,
Spending his time up and about.
His interests engage into life at school,
And for this he feels less like an odd fool.
Days dissolve whilst years erode,
Breathe that which comprises life’s abode.
One’s insights expand when growing tall,
You recognise all will rise and fall.
Oh, enough of the abstract talk!
Making concrete rocks into cheap chalk.
But by this age it became a trend,
To make language morph and bend,
Learning the Germans’ tongue upon his own,
Reconsidering his first to be honed.
Sciences manifest from in and from out,
Stirring muses thump amok and about.
This broadened graduates the grand treble grade.
In the shadow of the works yet to be made.
He finds a clique and finds new clubs,
Decides what activities he has to snub.
Realises the panicked attitudes of stress,
Comes to terms that more isn’t always best.
Fanciful creations illustrate his days
From iridescent art to the mundane essay
Paragraphs make more feel like less,
But I digress.
What will he put together in the new school?
Dabbles of thought between his assignments,
Which construct lines with sporadic dots,
Writing and writing and writing
Creating a new enlightenment,
Deserting old ideas whilst thawing them hot,
Plots like hollow skyscrapers;
Music like oceans of vapours.
A book of napkins refined in its verse,
Ironic, with his spoken word so terse.
Now he wishes he had along this ride,
An ally in concert on his side.
And come about now, another year:
A year filled with euphorias and fears.
A rhapsody’s death emminantly appears,
And over time’s ledge his present self peers.
Writing equations in chemistry,
Forming persuasions in English,
Contextualising Europe’s history,
Good scores in math are a steadfast wish.
Filling out in class many tedious packets,
With a trademarked look wearing green jackets.
Presenting his concepts to others,
He finds his idyllic fires are smothered.
Due to apathies and disinterest,
Confusion from himself and the rest.
The visions are far too grand
For even himself to understand.
The music he recites but doesn’t write,
The lyrics he writes but doesn’t recite.
The overflow of notions envelope hisself
Comprising the hoard.
All of the things he places on his shelves
Make futile discord.
While he constructs magnificent hopes,
Of victor and virtuoso and a polymath,
Still he falters and stagnates and elopes,
Along the irrational and impeccable path.
To maintain his standardised rudiments.
‘Tis Strange to imagine his pictured days and nights.
Just a daft fellow at whom I scoff and laugh.
His flurried oeuvre surges moribund light, right?
Pondering the world when its stuck in a test,
He still can’t decide which purpose is the best.
A lucid cosmos through the lens of a byzantine brain
Wondering why translating itself is such a pain.
Does he write words quaint or true or pure?
As within only he could ever be quite sure.
A pat on the back and a letter of note,
That of all, it’s the qualms he bloats.
Tell him to maintain an affable luminance,
Refrain from owning a cynic’s glance,
Letting the imaginary’s will express a chance,
Past lessons enhance you and in your mind they imbue
The methods you’ll use into the days you’ll prance through
And govern you forward into the blue expanse.