to marcy howard
People strive, for fame and fortune, pretending, a higher goal,
Hiding, behind, a plastic face, in a self absorbing role,
It’s hard to say, who you are, if even you, don’t know,
Striving for, another’s dreams, will you, ever show.
Desire’s chained, to things you see, and even, what you fear,
Afraid, to follow, your own star, your heart, you can not hear,
Friends and foes, part of life, litter, your path to fame,
And the building, of your facade, reveals, your true shame.
Does your quest, require others, to pretend, they can not see,
That the image, that you project, is not, reality,
While you chase, what you want, you’ve broken, at least one heart,
Calling it, your journey’s cost, yous play’s, real start.
You think, you chase, all those things, which haunt, all your dreams,
Yet, until, you accept yourself, you’re never, what you seem,
fame and fortune, can be nice, if something, that you earn,
But if you follow, another’s dreams, your self, is what you burn.