Saturday, January 08, 2005

Ode to Youth

(Friends, I'm still working out some kinks in my poetic form. But I offer this preliminary glimpse at something I have been working on for a couple of weeks. It is rough, and I am sure it needs work. JH)

The fountain of youth at the end of a knife
Scars the soul, but lengthens the life.
Skin without blemish, a mark or a mole
Hides all the flaws but uncovers the soul.
But oh to stay young, have youth,
And be gay;
And live with a soul like Dorian Gray,
Only someday to learn, young
We died,
That hate kept on growing when
We tried to hide.
So bring youth silver, gold and applaud
This mighty, this powerful, this
American god.

Youth in a bottle, a needle, a jar;
Or a truck or a face or a shiny new car.
But youth has a secret,
On the surface, in deep,
Youth cares little for his sheep.
He’s no poet, one who smiles
In summer, or warms the cold hand that shivers,
Compliments beauty,
Or that captive delivers.
He’s no mother hen gathering chicks;
He’s no Panglos, full of wit and surprise,
Offering wisdom and pie in the skies.
More is he—this fiend and friend—like Judas;
Just like Brutas, full of shadows and lies.

Youth—that Dantes before his Dungeon and loss,
That baby wrapped in Swaddling,
That Christ upon my cross—
Dreams of freedom and never greets
The morning knowing freedom is in reach.
Youth is naïve, not foolish, not dumb,
But true to its nature is wasted on the young.
By the time one is old enough to know
Just why the sun shines and the winds blow;
Birds fly to the South and why humans cry;
Why humans live and why humans die,
Innocence is lost on living and mirth
Somewhere between our death and our birth.

DG '04