….

In teenaged years,

  they wait in great hope –

They’re waiting

  for something to happen.

They wait and they mope 

  for some lucky stroke,

they’re waiting

  on brand new

    horizons.

They fill up on hate,

  in worlds they create;

they cannot escape

  from inside them.

The Fall comes too soon

  for buds still in bloom,

the beautiful babes

  generation.

And when a deed’s done,

  there will be no one,

no one to say,

  “It’s okay.

      You’re still young.”

In middle-aged years,

they brush back the tears –

  They’re switching their gears!

Switching the gears

  which remind them.

Some pain and some grief,

    some    

intermittent relief,

  on those roads

    that they chose

      to invent them.

It’s the ‘whys’ and the ‘whens,’

   …