youth, sweet youth!

Oh, to be young and gloriously naive again, someday! It's as if one day, your'e cool, you're evolved, you're where it's at, untouchable. Then one day, when you open the front door it looks like nuclear winter. Now everyone's a freak and you're not even a threat because you're not the strongest anymore. Suddenly, you know what real envy and fear is. You can almost hear God whispering over your shoulder, "but surely, you can see the majesty and sacredness of what this youth means." Of course you can. But that's exactly why it's so difficult to accept that you're not invited to the party anymore. A precious gift it is, to live the ideal in all it's imperfections, only to learn how fragile and fleeting such a beautiful illusion can be. I don't sleep in like I used to. Then again, I suppose I was only sleeping in because I figured that was a privilage of adulthood. That, and because sleeping alot is one of the best coping methods an adolescent has to cushion the blow of all the tramatic realities one discovers in young adulthood...

DEAD WOOD

She was caught on the past
like an errant nail
on her dirty damp sock
once fueled by false fulfilments
she soared over paths
she would never cross
until this instant
weighted by momentum
in her memories
now she floats only
as dead wood
but even Sisyphus
keeps climbing onward