The millionth man to walk
Through the gates of good fortune
A smile on his face
And hope in his eyes
As he gives himself up
To a thing that despises
All those who can rise
To uncharted heights
They’ll trim back his branches
Like a beautiful bonsai
And fill him with praise
Egotistical high
In a year he will wonder
Why his bank account’s dry
But then he will learn
The truth that they forbade
Better to make yourself
Than let yourself be made
A Life in Poems 