We come into this world,
Wide eyed and curious,
Dreaming about the future.
About what might be,
About what we can will into creation.
We dream of the unknown,
Of flying into space,
Or becoming the extraordinary.
We dream of changing the world,
Of being one of a kind.
Then we grow older,
And everything changes.
We become practical,
We walk away from the extraordinary,
No longer explorers,
Pioneers or inventors.
We become accountants,
Marketers and
Engineers.
The bright sunset of the future gets a little duller,
A little less colorful.
We stop dreaming because we have to "grow up"
We have to "be realistic"
Because the world isn’t made up of dreams.
It’s made of real jobs,
And no happy endings.
We stop trying to be the extraordinary,
We stop trying to be something new.
And the world keeps moving,
The same as it always has.
Because so few dream anything worth dreaming.
And so few question why the world never changes.
We underestimate the power of a child’s dream.
And we stop letting ourselves hope,
For tomorrow to be better.
But if we were to hope again,
To dream,
Maybe the world could be better than it seems.
Maybe if we were brave enough to hope again,
We could make the world our own,
And head once again,
Into the unknown.
