Smoke curls through late nights,
youth chasing its wild freedoms—
too much, too soon spent.
In the glow of reckless joy,
a quiet warning flicker’s.
Parties blur to dawn,
habits tighten into chains.
We ask as we fall—
can too much good turn to harm,
and who decides the measure?
I wrote this after reading a poem posted on Hello Poetry, written by Daan, a Belgian poet—titled Missing.
Feb 9
Feb 9, 2026 at 4:25 AM UTC
Smoke curls through late nights,
youth chasing its wild freedoms—
too much, too soon spent.
In the glow of reckless joy,
a quiet warning flicker’s.
Parties blur to dawn,
habits tighten into chains.
We ask as we fall—
can too much good turn to harm,
and who decides the measure?
I wrote this after reading a poem posted on Hello Poetry, written by Daan, a Belgian poet—titled Missing.
My poem takes a look at the rush of youthlate nights, wild freedoms, and the habits that quietly harden into chains. It reflects on the fine line between pleasure and harm, asking who decides when too much becomes the turning point we cant ignore.
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