young, so full of youth,
filled to the brim with
*** and desire and the
quest for flesh,

we are living the lives they
write about

we the young, so full of
uncontained emotion, so
happy to be alive and yet
not even realizing it, we
talk of suicide but never
believe it exists

we are perfect in our
decided ignorance of
our imperfections

(it gives us strength like
nobody knows)

-

spreading across the globe,
to China, Europe, and the
Southern Lands, our disease
is no plague

to the youth of the enslaved
places, to the poor countries,
and those shackled in the old
traditions:

we give to you our itch,
our burn, our aching and
hurting that drives us to
go out and do what needs
to be done

we give to you a reason
to make things better

(just as we give ourselves)

we are the reason
the earth still spins

we are the drive
behind every new
empire

we are the innovators
and the diviners

the makers of tools
and seekers of
riches

the creators of gods
and the gods
themselves

we, so young, so full
of energy and zeal and
lust, we the ones who
create and destroy, we
who so thoughtlessly
hurtle the human race
forward

we take ourselves to bed
each night, not wondering
with whom we sleep or
where we will awake;

knowing only that adventure
is worth having in itself.

that the morning is our treasure
and the new day is more fulfilling  
than any golden trinket in the
tombs of the old kings

this we sleep with, smiling,  
dreaming of the wild chances
we are challenged to tame

-

so young, so full of youth,
filled to the brim with ***
and desire and the thirst for
a definition in this grey and
blotted world

we awake each day
and drearily attack our
lives

we the pioneers, the philosophers,
and historians

humanity cannot live without us
(and I mean to say they have no
choice)