No one really knows
what they're getting into
when they decide to go
to medical school.
Barely adults,
asymptotically perfect,
we all come climbing
what will always be
society's ladders.
In search of the pinnacle
of solace
we write personal
statements about the
grandeur of healing,
about understanding the
intricacies of the human design,
about tempting fate
and playing God
without admitting
we are human too.
What did you think in
your first lecture
when you realized all
170 people in the room
didn't know the answer?
What do you feel after
your first test
when the screen only told you
you were 68% perfect?
What did you do when
the truth came crashing
down
that you were not in Kansas?
I wish I could say our
medical schools
make more doctors
than they make patients,
but perhaps it takes
being broken
to ever truly learn
that we are all just here
to heal.

The moon fell fast asleep
as we gazed into its glow,
Deciding she would like
to see where the dreamers
go.

But the stars were not so
keen
to be left there all alone,
knowing night would 
soon grow dark
without their rock and stone.

For the moon had been
their life,
a mother to them all,
a light and loving 
presence
for all things big and 
small.

For the moon could see
the truth
within the vast old Milky
Way 
that the sun was not the
one
giving light to make the 
day.

For the stars and their
reflection
were actually behind the
ray
that would find the 
hearts of humans
and show us how to pray,

for all the things now
shining,
beyond the great divide
where dreamers went to live
and darkness went to 
​hide.