Memento

Never surrender. Go down fighting.

A boy with a will,

A child with a heart,

This kid was talented,

This kid was smart.

Throughout his life he thought it was his duty,

To show the world what he could do.

A little skill here, some entertaining there,

His talents were judged but he didn’t care.

He had so much to offer and a lot to show.

For each little talent he held a memento.

Insignificant trinkets to mark his achievements.

Big or small, his success made him feel special.

This boy loved maths. A way with numbers, a master of shapes,

His mathematical talent was unrivaled.

For this he had a drawing.

A constant line that swirled and spiraled to make a beautiful flower.

He loved topology and all kinds of shapes.

Chaos theory and vector calculus, to him they were games,

So why would a simple drawing be so sentimental?

Because, despite his brilliance, even he began simple.

That's why this drawing was his simple memento.

Food was a skill, this kid loved to cook.

Christmas dinners or a sunday roast,

A huge fudge cake or a vegan vegetable mix.

This kid could make anything, if he found it in a book.

Since he was six he made all sorts.

Seafood and sushi with some tasty soy sauce,

Or a huge, brown roast pig, filled with stuffing.

He kept a spoon, small and silver.

Why a spoon, why not a book?

What better tool to keep than a guide on how to cook?

Because the first time he tasted his own hand made soup,

He spluttered and coughed, because it tasted like s**t.

So he remade it, again and again until it was perfect.

Each taste from that spoon marked his success and determination to try again.

He keeps it with him even though, to you, it may not be much of a memento.

A final skill to show was his voice.

Melodies and harmonies echoed everywhere.

When he threw his voice out, even angels couldn’t compare.

His voice was like butter, smooth and sweet,

He didn’t really need music,

His voice towered so much, you could never hear the beat.

On his desk was a song which he wrote years back.

He thought that he would be a great songwriter, that he needed no help.

Until performing one night, he was the lowest rated act for that song.

Usually the crowd went wild and all sang along,

He thought the same that night but he sure was wrong.

So he keeps that song to remind him,

That he may not be able to write but he sure as hell can sing.

So why have these reminders?

What’s the need?

Did the boy’s dreams come true?

Is he a scientist? Is he a chef? Does he still sing?

No.

That boy grew up.

His ambitions are gone.

Over time his attractive talents began to fade.

Nobody cared or wanted to know.

Eventually he gave up putting his skills on show.

There’s a lesson to be learned from this kid.

When it comes to your dreams, don’t let them go.

Don’t let them just sit on your shelf,

As a dusty, forgotten memento.