The Recklessness of Youth.
Straining, heaving towards some written rule.
Determined by peers, embodiments of greatness.
Ha…. stifled, indifferent to the individual.
Straight-faced, that way – indisputable.
What living has become;
Numbers – who’s got more than who.
Sitting without anything else to inanely do.
Processes’ in yes and no,
Unequivocal in right and wrong; black and white.
All about the future,
All about how one might benefit,
All about the…. me.
Sick, wretchedly tired, stirred in deep.
Calloused and worn, torn, broken.
In such a life; battered and bruised.
Can we truly think of no better use?
Words and sentences, abused.
Narrative woven the thinness of hair.
Cinema, laid contemptuously bare.
That youth, course it seemed bright; endless.
And yet, all things do end,
All things do eventually fall to the bottom.
Whilst some things never truly resurface.
One may think, change comes soon.
But that so-spoken change is as fickle as the ever-waning moon.
Bright, and white,
In one place always the dead of night.
So, here lies that Recklessness of Youth
Faces, scowls, contorted,
Peering into that waiting, hanging noose.