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Lisa Richardson


By: Lisa Richardson

Can I count the amount of times,
That people sit and waste their lives
Wishing and praying everyday,
That some magical force would sweep them away
And take them from all they hate,
And put them some place so great
Where they eat off fancy China plates,
And never will you find one mistake
For a perfect person to easily slip and make.
Everyday you find,
Someone trying to use their mind
To contemplate at what time,
They would get up go and find
What they want.
They might even say to me,
I wish, I wish that I could be
A singer a rapper or maybe
Anything I put my mind to be.
Every last one of us has a dream
A vision, a special thought a fantasy.
Usually it stays that way,
Because of pipe-dreams and their endless dreaming days.
And a pipe-dream, it will always remain,
Until they give up, let go and it slips down the drain
Slips to the part where we later complain
How we coulda, shoulda, woulda then end up with emotional pain.
We all know the American Dream;
To have a house, a job and a family
Some of us unfortunately,
Didn't make it so far and might live on the streets.
Might have dropped out and speak correctly.
And even as they sit on Forty-duce,
They think how they could put their life to use
Ten years later this is what they choose;
They want to be a surgeon and go to medical school.
If everybody lived that way
We wouldn't be where we are today.
If all we did was sit and dream
Of how nice a perfect life would seem,
Our dreams would have dreams and their dreams would dream too,
Too bad we'd wake up to find none had come true.