Still sees a point in playing,
Chasing the sun, saying hello
Instead of playing hard to get
With a mourning look.
The prompt to be genuine is still
Intact, unlike the new mule
Who you know had something bad
Happen to bray so over the top of
The silence at feeding time.
The time to live is when you are young,
Before you discover that the others
Are not like you. Some never know this,
They never lose their youthful exuberance,
But most make an effort
To learn the most important thing first:
That what you don't like, you are not,
But it's not until you clear the mirror of it
That you know you are
Something, a specific frequency,
Not just a taste bud sampling all the hay
For the elusive grain. That something
Is a covering, for you to carry, the next
Best thing to a body, a comfort to know
That the mold they broke
When they made you
Was never really a mold at all
Just a set of possibilities
You could choose among
For the choice that wasn't given.
That's how it starts.
The colony in Alpha Centauri
With its hardtack and scrambled signals
Wouldn't exist without the preference
For the impossible,
A blinking point
Of light
In the vastnesses of space,
Far enough for dreams to create,
Dreams that didn't exist.
