There's a child, 13 or so, who's lying on his bed,

And he wonders of all he wants to do and see.

But the voices, tender tyrants, crowd his sleepy head

As they whisper to him what he should want to be.

And the voices grow louder as the child grows older,

As the years mold him into a man.

He's forgotten his dreams and his young aspirations,

And now he only ever wonders if he can.

But O! to be filled with awe,

To want to live an adventure to tell.

To promise although your mind is raw,

I will not merely survive.

I will excel.

The little girl who dreamt of everything she ever wanted to be and more

is finding life not quite what she was waiting for.

Late to bed, early to rise, the sparkle fades from her hardened eyes.

How could you let it disappear?

Now there's no child here.

Find a way to recover, repossess, rediscover that puerile and familiar friend.

No more recitation with the flame of creation.

How could you ever want to let your childhood end?

We're grown, we know what is so.

Deny the trials just outside of our shell.

Accept all the things you will never know,

And you will not merely survive.

You will excel.

Here we are standing at the brink,

the line between the future and the past.

Some, prepared, some too scared to think,

Yet here we are, together and at last.

By: Alan Mendez