There was once a time when I was sold this dream of my golden future.  I, the can’t miss prospect, who ultimately was destined to fail.  I had the tools; the potential.  (potential with a cringe)  Much promise, much promise—but don’t blow it. . .don’t waste your talent. . .don’t let it slip away. . .don’t fail us. . .don’t let us down. . .


“Don’t let us down.” It reverberates straight down my spine.  “We’re counting on you.” Well don’t count on me.  Count me out!  I can’t be your savior or your hero.  Let it pass by a nagging doubt etching across my consciousness.  Better yourself say the little voices inside.  They start on me.  You can make it if you try, old boy.  Don’t let us down.  We can say we knew you when you were young.


I had a dream.  I had a vision.  It was a fantasy that would shape my life.  I was the writer; the great off-white hope; the man of destiny.  Too bad fate would decide to betray me.  Fate would find me unfit and decide to punish me; strip me of my dignity.  Fate run amok; ran ramshod over the dreams of the boy.  The eternal lack of luck disallowed the boy his success.


But I learned—or tried to learn—to live with it.  I looked at the dream that wouldn’t die.  I said why don’t I possess the skill of a Goethe or Dostoevski?  Why can’t I manipulate words like a Shakespeare?


They said You’re aiming too high.  I sat back and thought about it.  I quoted Robert Browning some such shit about reach exceeding grasp or there’s no purpose for a heaven.  So there!  That, I declared, is my reason for carrying on and reaching for the stars in the face of any inevitable failure.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

when I was young. . .and still hopeful. . .

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allets's picture

I'm Old

And still hopeful. I'll be dying, hoping. Inside look, thanks for the share - :D 




georgeschaefer's picture

Keep grinding until the end.

Keep grinding until the end.