I have often found that life is hard.
It grinds,
pushes
demands.

At times, I find it hardly worth it
to get up in the morning and face
the "first day of the rest of my life."

I want it to stop.
I want things to get easier
I want to end my suffering
by succumbing
to the dark and silent
promise of eternal peace.

When I feel like this
I flee from the classroom
and run from the avalanche of work.

Not in a literal sense of course
for that would result in a long lecture
explaining how I need to spend
every
living,
breathing moment
working.

Instead, I stare wistfully into sweet oblivion
and journey to my imagination fortress,
built for keeping out the cruel truths of reality.

It is here that I can create new fantasies
indulge my whimsical mind
and fly through the air with my own feathered wings.

I can swim with the powerful leviathans of the deep
and scale great mountains
to touch the silky blue sky with my fingertips.

I can race the wind across fields of fresh green grass
and swirl shimmering starlight
into the inky blackness of midnight.
But in a heartbeat,
my unrestrained joy
is torn to shreds
by sharp words
and a disapproving scowl.

I am yanked back
by the cruel iron shackles
that bind me to reality.

I am then left,
kneeling,
Shivering,
Weeping,
in the cold and desolate tundra of life,
trying to restore
the ruins of my stronghold.