The Goal Poem by Brian Rihlmann

If you wish
to mold a child,
don't leave him alone.

Don't let him roam in the woods
and overturn rocks,
explore creeks
and climb trees.

Don't let him
spend hours with
his favorite books,
or build imaginary worlds
from blocks,
or talk to his teddy bear
at night.

Or lay face up
on his bed for hours,
tossing a yellow tennis ball,
spinning it up into the air
like a tiny sun
over and over,
then catching it
as it plummets to earth.

Don't ask him why
he does this...
he couldn't have told you
he did it because
it quieted his little brain
which already churned
with unanswerable questions
about existence,
death, and god.

This boy will create
an inner landscape
so vivid,
that your dull grey world
will seem a prison,
every person a bore,
and your amusements absurdities.

Eventually he will
lock himself in a room,
and, from your perspective,
become insane.

But he will be happy there,
and isn't that the goal?