A life came forth one starry night
from darkened womb, by candlelight,
and rested there for just awhile,
to dream and hope, to grow and smile.
Still close to God, from whence it came,
not yet knowing guilt or shame,
Stretched forth a hand to touch a star,
but then was told, "It is too far."
"It is only myth that you are free, and
it matters not what you wish to be, for
You have a duty to be like me,
and you are measured by conformity.
The shattered soul withdrew its' hand,
and wonderedhow to take a stand, but
knew not how to solve its' plight,
Alas, convention won the fight.
It longed to soar as God intended, but
enslaved to convention, creativity ended.
And the star of promise that shone so bright,
Became naught but dust that fateful night.
Joan Meadowlark Stanton Copyright
