Ayla Heinze-Fry


Dreams, dreams, they're flying around, clouding thoughts.
Their wings are heard flapping, they ought to be caught.
They fly around, slapping, with voices they speak:
“Follow me!” they cry, yet my face is meek.
My mind is in turmoil, it is in strife.
Which path am I s'possed to go down for life?
Will I not decide, or handle the stress?
The longer I wait, the more I'm a mess.
Dreams are great, they are wonderful.
But not only that, also plentiful.
Though there are many, each one is unique,
And, as they unfold, I take just a peek.
They first start like puppies following 'round,
Pretty soon there are more, and they become hounds.
Colleges tell you to follow your dreams,
But if you're not quite sure, naught is as it seems.
Bright dreams turn to monsters, pushing you 'round.
The pressure for choosing one runs you aground.
It's still not all over, not by a long shot.
Pick a major and minor to be taught.
I could be an artist, author, a teacher,
Which one of these will become my main feature?
There are so many dreams that could be followed.
After choosing one dream, you feel hollow.
There's emptiness in knowing chances were lost.
What would have happened if they were not tossed?
No matter how bad the wanting to know,
One can never go back, through time one must go.


Copyright © 2002-2007 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2007 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.