Young Blood
Young and naive,
we laugh under the melancholy,
chat spilling into tears,
learning the tides of life
aren’t meant to break us,
but to forge our minds and hearts.
They speak in endless semantics,
rhetoric designed to trap us
between the parting moon
and the awakening sun.
We will not be them.
We will take their forms
only to bend them to our own.
We will not close our eyes
to the pleas of the lonely,
nor ignore the burdens
of the weary.
Young blood, young dreamers—
stakes are high, odds crippling,
yet we move forward,
through the “what ifs” and the “what nots.”
We take our time,
unsheathing our gifts
for the good of all.
Music and poetry spill
from our fingers,
light flickers in our eyes,
twinkles born of eagerness
we never felt before.
So we dance
to senseless rhythms,
through misgivings and missed chances.
We chant hymns and whisper aphorisms,
and in everything, give thanks.
In nothing, we tremble.
Our moods alter
with fanciful thoughts
until the city is drenched
in our youthful voices.
We serve with love,
hate touches none.
We paint our visions
on the vast daylight sky—
imaginary, illusory,
but pure, undivided, unyielding.
Into the sea we cast indecision,
urging forward until the last embers of the day die.
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