I am young,
though I wish I were younger,
I would rewind time if I could,
back to a period where my temperament was stronger,
back to a time when my greatest concern was a Popsicle,
dripping on my hand as I lick it.
Youth is resilient,
we are born into ignorance,
where we might or might not remain,
given to bliss and innocence,
a greater inclination for love.
I long for a time filled with freedom,
freedom found within playground fences,
found within crosswalks and spineless volumes,
crayon on wall not pen on paper,
that's where real art is made.
I long for a time filled with big brothers and big sisters,
learning one step at a time,
no quantitative measures of success in life,
a time with unrealistic expectations,
not expectations unfulfilled.
I long for the time when I worshiped the ground my brother walked on,
infallible parents and clergymen,
where forgiveness goes without saying,
forgetting trespasses just as quickly as they come,
things change as we are carried away.
It's true that I still love,
but things are different now,
it'll never be the same,
my love is transfigured by dividing lines,
not open to the general populous,
dependent on what they do or say.
I wish that I could go back.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
I am young,
though I wish I were younger,
I would rewind time if I could,
back to a period where my temperament was stronger,
back to a time when my greatest concern was a Popsicle,
dripping on my hand as I lick it.
Youth is resilient,
we are born into ignorance,
where we might or might not remain,
given to bliss and innocence,
a greater inclination for love.
I long for a time filled with freedom,
freedom found within playground fences,
found within crosswalks and spineless volumes,
crayon on wall not pen on paper,
that's where real art is made.
I long for a time filled with big brothers and big sisters,
learning one step at a time,
no quantitative measures of success in life,
a time with unrealistic expectations,
not expectations unfulfilled.
I long for the time when I worshiped the ground my brother walked on,
infallible parents and clergymen,
where forgiveness goes without saying,
forgetting trespasses just as quickly as they come,
things change as we are carried away.
It's true that I still love,
but things are different now,
it'll never be the same,
my love is transfigured by dividing lines,
not open to the general populous,
dependent on what they do or say.
I wish that I could go back.
A.P. Beckstead (2013)
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