No A for Astronaut

The boy who never learned
The folly of his childhood dream,
Is the boy who never grew.
If only that sacred youth could have kept his eyes shut tight,
His mind bound up on dreams that shone,
Without need for sun or sky,
But the boy who in his mind
Wielded an epee and travelled to Paris,
To be a musketeer,
Was one day told the musketeers were all dead,
Dust and bones
In the grave of history.
And the boy who put down his sword,
In the inventiveness of the desperate
Looked outwards to the furthest shore of space,
And longed to be an astronaut,
To place his feet on land so high
He’d never be the same again,
And yet the careers computer
Had no A for Astronaut.
There is nothing sacred in human life,
Nature abhors dreams that do not change with circumstance,
Only the pen can wield a power that does not dim,
Breaking through the barriers of birth,
Going were no man or boy can imagine,
Tapping the well within that never dries,
But spurts higher with every gulp,
An artery cut under the skin of life,
It hints at depths we will never know,
Drink up my life force as I perish, It says
There is no such thing as rationing life,
Drink deep, dream deep
And as your heart is sundered once again,
Drink deeper still your grief,
And pen another world with your tears,
Until it too ends,
Even then the pen will never stop.

(C) Copyright Mark B Williams 2014 Registered & Protected