Youth was never about the innocence
Or the ignorance of what lay ahead.
It was never the friendships
Sailing the waves of imagination.
Or releshing the times we were astray and led.

It was certainly never the dreams,
We have those our entire life
Eight hours a day or night
Spent in mind forged make believe.
It was never the plans that were hatched,
Thatched and woven but semi detached
From what it all could mean.

That lack of conscience, the guilt
It all does feed the fire.
And that is youth, a proving ground
Among candles and lanterns, bonfires,
Cities raized to the ground.
Perhaps a grand symphony of light
May, with time and care be made,
The image burned on an iris fades.
Drowned out and forgotten by the
Light of a billion flames.