by B. D. Faw
They say our sorrows never end, and so they never do, my friend.
They said we'd never reach the sky, so mankind never learned to fly.
"The world is flat, the edges sharp!' or so the Ancients used to harp.
But wrong they were, as we can see, yet no one ventured far to sea
Until Columbus and his throng sailed to the West to prove them wrong.
Then Wilbur Wright (and Orville, too) refused to listen, tried, and FLEW.
And so it's been, throughout the years:
I've always planned to leave this place; to find, perhaps, a better race:
There's always "THEY' to raise our fears,
To tell us what we cannot do
And make ME seem to be like YOU.
A race of Men, both strong and free, who know no "THEY', but only "WE',
And speak about their fellow Man not what They can't, but what WE can!
"You're Just a young, romantic fool', the Oracles of mankind drool.
"Just who are you to see the Light, when no one else can set things Right?
Grow up!, Relax!, and join our group! why search for meat? There's lots of soup!'
I'd rather die from fire or foes,
And I SHALL go, and I shall seek the men of courage; not the meek,
While seeking that which no man knows,
And while I live, this Vigil keep,
Than join this herd of headless sheep.
And if this Race does not exist, I'll tell the World what they have missed
And cry to every soul that's Free, "Let's start that race with YOU and ME!'
For comments, criticism, more information or publishing offers ;-) or to just shoot the breeze, drop me a line: firstname.lastname@example.org
Copyright (c) 1995 by B. D. Faw.
This material may not be reproduced without written permission from the author. Such permission is not hard to get!