As life has broken it down through the ages
Rendering it fallow like a field,
The arrogance of our youth
Is now depleted, now barren
Like the dust of a death bowl
Wells gone dry, echoing
To the old guy shouting
Nonsense as he leans into memories
Could it have been not arrogance, after all?
But merely opinion,
Straight out
Or was it seen to be like the sword?
Dueling, embattled
In a matter of honour and vigour
A loftier assault…
I remember having those larger feelings
When I felt the power of being
Coursing through my veins
The power of my thoughts when I thought
I was in control
Was it arrogance or youthful naivete?
It must have been youth
Because now I can’t feel the power anymore
And I can only distill the opinions as Polaroid’s
Catalogue them, along with the useless thoughts
And the revelations of experience,
Writing them down on paper
As if they were to gain some meaning
In the process