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Poem

The aged look upon the young in envy.
We are reminded as if in distant dream
that we once were given that same opportunity.
The opportunity to live life in a state of following our hearts,
of being wild, and freely expressive.
Those times when our elders would point us at things of ambition,
of doing good in school, or playing sport, of achieving.
To the child we were, such advice fell on deaf ears as we ran and play.
We failed to note, didn't care to note that this advice was given
by those who wish they had it to do again, to do differently.
Those golden hours they lost or were robbed of,
envious and desiring any chance to rewind time.
Their curse becomes ours as we try to suggest the importance
of a good education, of investing, or taking care of one's health.
This singular ironic fate, we failed to heed their advice, our children
will fail to heed ours, our children's children will fail to heed the same.
Each generation covet in desire a chance to start again,
those golden hours lost to us all.

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