New Age
We must run with horses
We have never been this age before.
We are but children crying wisdom—
Either us or they who demand it.
What child is born knowing to run?
Yet once they learn to crawl,
We expect them to fly with the wind.
So we study the racers who've already placed,
Aping their form but forgetting
At a hundred, they were foolish boys and girls.
And what hope left
For the twisted,
Broken folk we are
When our glowing, golden great-uncles
Could not, in all their perfect glory,
know it themselves?
I demand pride and honor of myself—
all things considered.
We've stumbled and scraped,
But still have our legs.
Still running and pumping
As desperately as ever.
I see the line ahead, and the man with the confetti
A finish the gods of the ether
Will never know.
Take my hand,
My love.
Forgive me.
Let's cross together
And claim the honor
Gifted not for perfection,
But for those
Who ran faithful,
Though never having been this age before.
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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