In a high school auditorium
words float through the air.
Dreams and imagination
amongst racism and terrorism.
The damp smell of old foam
A dark high school auditorium

A child 5 years younger
waits in the old seats.
Listening to words that float through the air
like dropping slowly through warm honey.
Words get more potent as the night wanes on.

His poem
a bright light amongst the serious essays.
He waits
getting more and more anxious
as it gets closer to his time.

Then it is his turn.
He takes a deep breath.
Suddenly his butterflies turned into angry bats
swirling around inside of his chest.

He stands on the stage,
looking out at the dark auditorium,
the stage lit up like a torch.

He takes a deep breath then speaks.
Pouring as much emotion as he can muster into his words.

“Hills of drifting purple blue
ripple ‘round our minds
the freedom and imagination
intoxicating
absorbing
dreams are beautiful
day or night
stirring or slumbering
good or bad
exquisite

in our dreams
we are free
realism is forsaken for our wants
our deepest desires
the wildest fancifications nurtured
in our minds
to emerge strong and tenacious
ready to be
expressed
ready to fly”

He waits
a miniscule pause
drawn out by nerves.
Was I good?
It was too short…
Oh no, no one knows that I finished…
“Thank you...” he utters into the microphone.
The stone faced audience suddenly start applauding and cheering.

A sigh escapes my lips, as relief flows over me.
I walk off the stage elated, smiling, and meet my dad in the crowd.
“How was I?”