There is a place, within the center of any given mind

where we keep our innermost hopes and dreams

like a museum of wishes, within the city of the soul.

I once roamed these halls as if I lived here,

wondering at the bright and shiny could-bes

while taking in little of the curator's lessons.

Then I grew to question some of the lessons

and to outright reject and rebel against others

as I graffiti'd the walls with my angst and pride.

Once I regained my head, I realized the damage

I'd done to these fine works I'd once admired so greatly

and so, I set about to reframe them, to make them real again.

Now, I carefully place them back into their regal places

but some are faded and tarnished from neglect

though others shine brighter than ever before my eyes.

And now, the young ones come to this place where

these hopes and dreams grace the halls;

between them, they begin to wonder and take in little.

And I find myself as the curator here,

telling the youth of what each means to the world

and knowing they hear only what they wish to.

One day, I shall watch them question as well,

they will also reject, rebel and refuse what works these be,

yet one day, in their own galleries, they shall be me.