I hope to be old soon.
Youth is fraught with pitfalls,
littered with discarded dreams.
It’s stupid—bitter.
Broken hearts and broken bones,
one poor choice after the next.
Youth is serious,
spending all its time trying to prove itself.
The herculean Sisyphus,
the rolling, moss-less stone:
wayward, raging, ricocheting.
It’s not for me.
I’d rather collect a little moss;
builds character.
They say youth is wasted on the young.
I disagree.
Youth is wasted either way—
only the old are free.
Yikes! Haha an unsettling truth I suppose
Sometimes truth is unsettling, but that doesn’t make it bad.
I like to think we can all adopt an “old soul” mindset and become more zen if we try.
I really like this poem. Wow!
Thank you very much!
Very pretty. Though I like many of my youth’s poor choices, looking back on them. They turned out okay.
Thanks! Well, not everyone has the same youth. My poor choices stayed poor. Alas.