People like to crush dreams like they like to pop bubbles.
People like to whisper doubts like they like to blow out candles.
Keep those dreams close as an infant in the womb.
Keep those dreams close and let them grow into children.
Keep those dreams close and guide them through the haze of adolescence.
Keep those dreams close as they stare back at you as adults.
Keep those dreams close and grow old and die with them realized.
We all die anyways and it is better to be in the arms of a thriving lover
Than to be grasping in the dark.
Always more bubbles to blow, more lights to relight a burnt out wick, and of course a plethora of treasure maps to redirect and guide your way.
To those that blow out candles and pop bubbles, I assure you, though it may seem like it is, that was not your original dream. There is a far greater design within the lines of your thumb and the dimples upon you ass.
This is the end of the poem.