Magnus Grace

What about the dreamers 

who stare up at the stars 

What about the dreamers 

whose hopes shimmer like sparklers in the night 

What about the dreamers 

I want to grow up but I don’t.

But I do

but I don’t.

But lucky for me I don’t have to make that decision.

I’m forced to grow up whether I like it or not.

The thrum,

The pulse,

The ever-increasing

All-consuming

Tick-tock

Tick-tock

Tick-tock

Counting down

The end.

The

End.

We all know it.

The beginners of the beat,

Just learning the ropes,

Figuring out their instruments -

They come in, 

Wide-eyed,

And regard the older kids

With awe.

I love to be looked at this way

A grandmother bakes

A batch of warm cookies

Peppered with butterscotch chips,

A chocolate kiss pressed in the center,

For her grandchildren