Disclaimer: The Dead Poets Society and any other related characters do not belong to me.
My Crayon Box Posse
He was Neil Perry, the color cherry.
Bold and bright, if given a chance he would've taken flight.
But us crayons do not fly; we sit in our box and abide by,
The rules set for us; we aren't meant to make a fuss.
His wrapper was his limit, to it he would submit.
To do what he was told, and make a lot of gold,
Was his purpose in life, but it caused strife.
For deep down inside, he did not want to abide.
His neighbor was Pale Yellow Todd, who he found to be quite odd.
Constantly walking on a balance beam, afraid of losing sight of his dream.
The wrapper he had on was not his own. It was sewn,
Onto him. His smile looked grim.
Look! Where? Before you! Is it true, is it true?
Keating Blue, not like me or you!
For colors of warmth, we are, and cold colors are so afar.
But with just one script, Neil's wrapper came off with a rip.
His true color was shown, his life was now his own.
And live it he did, the way he wanted, the way he was forbid.
But happy, this ending is not, for everything he had got,
Was lost. But what did it cost?
His name was Neil Perry, the color cherry.
And with the force of an ox, he fell out of the crayon box.