A lost & broken young man
Swirling around in the desert’s dust
Never able to reach a potential promised
Wasting away; a young life gone bust
But the Almighty works in mysterious ways
Why He looks after lost sheep? I can’t tell
But in my most hopeless hours, I believed
& that’s when I found my Southern Belle
In honor of my baby’s birthday…
This is all going too fast.
I’m driving the minivan today
My family means more than your perceptions
I’m regaling them with stories of Neverland
For Pixie Dust & Magic, young minds have excellent reception
Do not be afraid of your strength
Learn to love yourself & all forms
There’s peace within the text
Embrace ideas as they swarm
Take a walk into the fields
Go further, down where the fairies reside
Take time to learn the dwarves’ names
When you return you’ll be bonafide
Write what your soul has digested
Tell us the stories living up within
Once you become young
That’s the exact moment life will begin
I’m not feeling myself these days
My body creaking when I walk
I grow tired as soon as the sun sets
The youth no longer listen when I talk
Life hasn’t changed; I’ve grown old
I’m no longer the freshest young man
But do not underestimate this mind
For it’s still spry & I’ll always be the Pan
“I am not young enough to know everything.” – Oscar Wilde
the young woman sits quietly in the room
staring endlessly ahead
occasionally picking up her pen to jot down a note
the casual clothes cover her slender frame
a blonde crown adorns her head
her beauty catches my roaming eye
without saying a word, she silently walks away
I used to be young & impulsive
Idealistic – crying out for those mistreated
Arrogant, impervious to facts or wisdom
Ready for the status quo to be defeated
Now I’m old & impulsive
Stringing words together at will
Focusing on a more personal battle
Time has removed my desire to kill
I continue to pull within my own skin
Struggles no one can understand or see
Alone to fight these cruel thoughts
The sands fall & I merely wish to be free
Sally came to her Advanced Writers class that evening without much inspiration. The winter semester was headed toward finals. The stress kept building upon her. There had not much time to write lately. When she had wanted to write, she found the well was dry.
She was a junior at the University. A notebook could always be found in her bag. Sally had a habit of trying to write down any interesting thought she came across. She had been keeping faux-diaries since she was a little girl. Sally was shy about her writings before she met like minded people at school here. Now, she was cautiously open about what she was capable of writing.
Outside was bitter and cold. The snow hadn’t been cleared from the streets that afternoon. Everyone was walking carefully, if they went out at all. She wore her ancient clunky Docs an old boyfriend had bought her years before. They provided decent traction on the sidewalks.
She removed her coat and hung it on a hook at the top of the auditorium. She wore a light sweater and leggings with a scarf around her neck. Sally would be considered pretty once you took the time to look at her. She had a slightly nerdy appearance. She tried to look attractive without wasting too much time on superficial endeavors.
This class was her favorite of the week. She tolerated the rest of her schedule to be able to sit here and listen to Dr. Fitzgerald. As the class went on, she sat mesmerized. She had come to this school to learn from her favorite poet. This was her dream come true. She awkwardly smiled as he spoke.
“No matter what anyone tells you, you can’t teach poetry. You can only encourage someone to feel onto the page.”
She scribbled that quote into her notebook. Class had ended as Sally was putting her belongings into her bag. She noticed the professor was the only other person left. She took a deep breath and approached him.
“Can I buy you a drink or a coffee, Professor? I’d really like to talk about some of my writing.” Sally bounced nervously as she spoke.
“No, my dear, the Missus is eagerly waiting for my return.” And with that he limped off, down the corridor . He used an old shillelagh as a cane. She just smiled as she watched him. There was something noble about that man.
OMG! I’m getting old
I’m actively searching
For the edited version
Watching their content
Preserving young minds
Cultivating the innocence
For you can never rewind