N/A: My world lit professor once saw me on the hallways of my university, a semester after our class ended. She called me Peter Pan.
A childhood fantasy, they tell him as
Of a flying man to the second star above
Exploring worlds through glimmering pixie dust
Whose shadow paints the dull canvass of the sky and ember
A galaxy unraveled, constellations mounting the clouds
Where he hears the children’s calls of growing up never
“Dear Peter Pan,” a lad wrote one day
“Why won’t you come and take me away?
Because growing up is not what I have planned
Please take me away to Neverland.”
A land of eternity, his kingdom come
Where lost children wander, but never gone
Where the trees cower like the loud weeping in the night
Where the song of summer becomes a snapping winter fright
The cry of the children who miss their mothers
When the lightness falls to slumber and asks for arms that will embrace
And all of these things he can never offer
For he is a King and they can only fall upon his grace
“Dear Peter Pan,” the lad wrote once again
“As a child you were adored by I and forever would, but then
One will always grow up and for that they need their mother
but none of these, a King nor a friend could ever offer.”
His beautiful eyes glimmer with tears like pixie dust
For the love and adoration that once was held are now replaced by disgust
Peter Pan, they still call his name
By their windowsills, yearning not to age
Oh how foolish, but it is to love
A man who flies to the second star above
