Gift of the Dragon

When we were five, every day

was like a new present.

We were literally like kids on Christmas,

but every day was a holiday.

We get to see Grandma today.

We get to play with our new friend.

We get to cuddle our dolls

race our trucks

be an astronaut

be a doctor

be mother

and every day was unique

in only the slightest ways,

but just enough to make 

every day a new present.

I am not sure when it changed

but somewhere down the line

time is no longer a gift

but rather a monster we fight

like the dragons and demons

we used to fight in our dreams.

Maybe it starts when school becomes

less about playtime

and more about math time,

with little to break it up in between.

Maybe it starts when the nine to five arrives,

and we can no longer distinguish 

between a Monday and a Friday.

There's no distinct answer 

and maybe we can't defeat the beast,

but perhaps we can tame it

and befriend it again.

The dragon goes from a fire-breathing monster,

to a friendly creature again,

content to toast our marshmellows

and fly us over the seven seas.

When we're ready to give up,

to let the dragon drag us to the end

with its sharp teeth dug in,

remember when it spread its wings

and flew you to Neverland. 

Let Neverland be your home for a while,

never grow up, there's no need.

Play with the dragon again,

and it will be too distracted to leave

to move forward and you yourself

will be too distracted to notice

when it does manage to move again.

And it doesn't matter when it does

because you held the memories with the dragon

and you'll make more 

until the day he comes and bows to you,

letting you climb on his back

and carry you into the sky.

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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