The Next American Idol Poem by Steven Federle

Is it true that all my motives have meant nothing?
Is it true that all my desires were an illusion? Thomas Merton

I wanted to ride the wind,
feel the rush of pride
as I strode front and center,
to become the next
American Idol!

My flame rose high into
the summer night sky.
Garish and bright
My eager stars spread
the heat of grandeur
the light of illusion.

But in the soft dawn,
in the morning rain
only my smoldering
lie remains.