It's the way of the world

Let go of all your dreams
like paper birds
frayed at the seams.
And watch them flutter
like butterflies,
as you mutter
a silent "good-bye."
And walk away,
try not to look at the sky.
The longing
is evident in your eyes.
Just focus, let logic define
what fancies scoffed at
and what imagination derides.
Even when you don't want
to look away,
your resolution
won't let you sway.
Success isn't a dream,
call it an ambition.
Because your dreams are already
out of commission.

Tears well up, the dams break through,
but all that you gave up,
you can't renew.
You fell prey to the pesters
of the world and its clans.
And you failed to register
that you're the pawn in its plans.
The world told you to give up -
that your dreams were just a con.
And you obliged too readily,
look at the mind-maps you've drawn;
they make sense to the world,
but not a smidge to you.
Because your dreams are out there
in the celestial blue.

There's a chasm in your heart,
you're afraid to cross the line.
You're afraid to follow your dreams;
the world's claimed you as "mine."
You swallow your anger, you hold your heart firm,
even though your desire has started to squirm.
You try to keep it from breaking and flooding into despair.
But to the world all is a prosaic cry of "hum-drum."
You're a halting wreck, a metal gymnasium.
Breaking, breaking, like a convex sphere,
You roam in circles, and yet you wonder
if your dreams fly free somewhere.