the broken promise of youth is it's invincibility; stolen from us by the first adult who teaches us the valuable lesson about consequences in an effort to save us future pain; clipping the wings of our fragile courage - a voice haunts out thoughts as we mull our futures, our hopes and dreams; failing to launch - we dare not out of fear - in the direction of who we might become - there must come a day when the call of our future will be too loud; when we will have learned to rise about the voices of doubt - our collection of fears - to fulfill the promise of our youth, to become who we are called to be.
Tag: poetry
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is it art if it is not consumed by others; if it is not seen by the public, how can it breathe? is it just a hobby; another form of work; is it play? what if it soothes, healing troubled minds? what if it inspires, sets fire to hair and moves us, but remains unknown? what if we didn't feel compelled - this insufferable need - to attach labels to all things? what if everything just was requiring no label to give it life, to define it, to provide meaning - how would we hate then?
Progress
as we advance, we fall back - progress a plague; addiction a screen hiding forgotten truth ignored with no recourse - we know no limits facts are rumors whispered on the wind; reality, truth is what we believe we've done this to ourselves; post-modern questions opening the door for invalid answers - we numb ourselves with harmonious songs condemning those who sing off key forgetting to ask why they know a different note - the disease is more the symptoms: want and greed we could be cured by enough if we could see past the screen to look back, to accept old truths, we might be sated