Young, is what we all were at some point.
Growing rapidly is what our parents say.
Boy meets girl.
Girl meets boy.
They become friends.
Then become more than friends.
Three years later celebrated prom.
Hurray!!!
Year after that Graduation.
They get lost into college and find other fish in the sea.
Decades later A high school reunion.
young is what they were. middle aged is what they are now.
Boy finds girl, and the girl finds the boy.
Tears of joy seap out of their eyes as they hug.
Tighter and tighter.
The bond is strong!
when years turn decades.

the sky's clouds
can be soothing bubbled scale,
protective thick hide, or
soft stringy fur all
painted on
that big blue
dragon's foreboding and
daunting cosmological
back.

You bury your boys.
  We bury our boys.
  Our tears can never
  bring them back.

  What's the score in war?
  Number of men killed or
  maimed? Which is worse?
  No man returns the same.

  The girls at home waiting
  will never know him again.
  He's silent or screams at
  night in dreams of war.

  The children will cringe
  at his cruelty he hates
  but never understands.
  It's war's carrion breath.

Blue is cool
but that's just them
trying to fool you,

they scrawled it in red paint
now
that ain't cool
but again
it's just them
trying to fool you.

Monday's blue
and that's true,
I'm hot and bothered
but I usually am.

I wish
She was here
whispering in my ear
'stop whining, the sun's shining,
what more do you want?'

oh!
I have a long list.

a
fantasy,
you and me
waves crashing
on the shore