Cement dreams — hard and weightless
Light as a feather, cold and baseless
Gray-cloud weather, obscured vision
High beam-blinded, fixed decisions
A valiant mission, or a path predetermined?
‘X’, ‘Y’, ‘Z’, follow these and you shall be
Given a life free of mediocrity
Or, is it so?
The suburbs away may keep the ruffians at bay
But what say of the throwaway’s state?
Does he not urge to build, make — create?
Despite his place in the vice of fate?
Does she not desire a future? Her wishes fulfilled?
Despite opposing forces, the weight of society’s will?
A new car, a fast car, a big car, a better car
Will only take one so far
Before the gas runs out and we return to the gas station called “reality”
To refuel on cheap snacks while the gasoline pours
Fueling our tanks to hit the road once more
Ready to go, we hop back in and trudge along
The radio tuned to a blues man’s song
A heavy rain batters the windshield, pounds the ground
Hands grip the wheel, the eyes refuse to look down
The road now slickened—is it too much to bear?
These parallel lines that appear to lead a path to nowhere?
We must have no fear, no matter how bad it seems
For we all share these hard and weightless cement dreams