They Laugh At Me

They Laugh At Me

Stoicism and Mediocrity

I woke this morning and flew away, across the barren sea,

the others sat and watched me go, and others laughed at me.

They glared me down as jealous inmates, watch one leave the cell

I floated away across the morning, and here my thoughts I tell.

There were others plugging fast, to overtake my rise,

They pulled and climbed and scraped and mimed to try and win the prize.

They came in twos in groups and murders and some they laughed at me,

but amid confusion I took flight, and felt like I was free.

I breached the atmosphere at last, I left them all behind,

and then I saw the black ahead, and solace did I find.

I cut the engine, and fell back down, because I now could see,

I missed the way they all would stare, and some would laugh at me.

I find myself among them now, oh, how I try to blend.

Some would claim I am the same, on perspective it depends.

And on the shelf of purpose, I found what I could be,

Among rows of mediocrity, they still would laugh at me.

It started out as a simple project in 2D Design that went a little haywire.  The problem to create compelling images out of nothing but black and white paper while illustrating the principles of unity: Proximity, continuation, and repetition, came as a challenge.  I do not claim to be the person this poem speaks of, neither do I have a specific person in mind.  But I believe that we all can relate to this person.  At some point in our lives an intense fever of passion rips across our consciousness and we see for a moment the height of what we can be.  We see that others also have ambition, dreams and opportunities, but surely none could rival this passionate fever we feel now.  We rise, we climb, we fight and pull, until one day, the fever breaks.  We see that our passion has shut doors, cut ties, and essentially left us alone.  Being alone doesn't bother us, in fact, we have fought for this moment when we could operate free of all distraction.  This is the opportunity to be exactly what we have the potential to be...but that is not how it works.  Passion meets reason and we cut the engine.  We fall back to earth where we meet those that realized what we took so long to: 

  Passion is a poison when left uncontrolled, ambition is a 

  tragedy, just waiting to be told.

We fell for it, but we dont regret it.  We settle into our place, ready to be normal and live an amazing life...but it has change us.  The fever that ripped through us has left us something different.  They may laugh...but we are happy about who we have become.  We are unique.  Passion is the sickness that I would never give back, no matter how bad it hurts.