Everyone runs for their entire life,
Chasing that which we truly desire.
And though the pace may bring all of us strife,
We never stop, despite how we tire.
For the very objects of our pursuit
Are our suns, our centers, our brightest dreams.
And if one denies it, the point is moot;
The prize is one for which every soul screams.
And although countless people choose to run,
Very few manage to claim their reward.
Some will fall, or by pressure be undone,
But all will finish by their own accord.
The finish line crossed, when all has been done,
But few will catch the object of their run.
by Sydney L., Grade 9
If you're interested, here is an op-ed article from the New York Times, an excellent link to the poem : The Busy Trap
Artwork by Riley H., grade 8