So Hesiod looked around on an ancient Grecian day
He looked at all the rowdy youth doing things their way
With their sundials and writing
And their chariots like lightning
He concluded that youth were going the wrong way

Why do I feel that
I'll regret what I'm saying
When I text people

Why do I feel like
Every decision is the
Most important one

Why do I still feel
Backed into a corner when
Someone shouts at me

Why do I feel that
Absolute compulsion to
Run away from here

Why is it that I
Just can't seem to make my mind
Function like others'

Walking under an indigo sky
With a cream colored moon shining in her eyes
Sniffing at the ground instead of looking up
Is my little mixed breed pup

Running under a blanket of blue
Chasing squirrels like terriers do
After the chase, sleeping like a log
Is my little puppy dog

Woofing quietly at my feet
Acting like it's time to eat
Staring up hopefully, looking so cute
Is my sixty pound little pooch

Looking at eyes an icy blue
One and two, claws strike true
Looking at a scene of mess and gore
Three and four, she won't see you anymore
Looking at that devil who once played tricks
Five and six, no wonder she's ******
Eyes start to close as life abates
Seven and eight, the night won't wait
For the love of her family and her friends
Nine and ten, could she ever start again

We
Poets
Are by far
The strangest ones
The ones who see rhyme
Where others just see pain
The ones who find darkness where
Others ignore it for the light
The ones who write unabashedly
And yet are still afraid to be themselves
The ones who are childlike in our intentions
But by far more mature in our thoughts and our means
We have to be this way, because being a poet
Is being strange and paradoxical, like life and death

All of these wires that lie by my bed
Leading to lamps, lights, and clocks around my head
Seem to be tucked away, out of mind, out of sight
Until I need to change out my two different lights