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  • Writer's pictureMichael Bastianelli

This is Earth

At the tender age of six, in a classroom bright and fair,

I faced a moment of mockery, a burden I would bear.

A picture of our planet, a sphere of blue and green,

The teacher posed a question, a simple query, it seemed.

"What is this a picture of?" she asked the eager crowd,

My young mind wandered, an imagination unbound.

As if on lunar soil, I gazed from afar,

A vision of the Earth, suspended like a star.

I spoke my thoughts aloud, my heart filled with wonder,

"It's like if you were on the moon, and looking at Earth yonder."

The teacher, unamused, dismissed my vision with a sigh,

"No, Michael, that is the Earth," she said, as the laughter began to rise.

The students jeered and giggled, my dreams they could not see,

For my young and open heart saw more than Earth could be.

In the eyes of a child, the world a canvas wide,

I'd imagined a cosmic voyage, my spirit reaching for the sky.

But what the teacher failed to grasp, amidst the stifled laughs,

Was the beauty of a child's mind, the power of its craft.

For within that six-year-old boy, a universe did dwell,

A boundless realm of wonder, where dreams and hope could swell.

And though that day, my vision was met with scorn and jest,

I held tight to my dreams, my celestial quest.

For in the face of ridicule, I would not be deterred,

My imagination soaring, my heart forever stirred.

Years later, I stand strong, my dreams alive and well,

The laughter of that day, a distant, fading knell.

For each of us possesses, a universe within,

A place where dreams take flight, and the sky's no longer the limit.

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