Who deserves the respect out of hand, I wonder…

The Youth, in an unknown world with few tools,

Or the Aged, who have been rocked by the thunder,

Those that have set the rules.

Is it not true that the Youth might not know courtesy,
And the Aged knowest that mystery?,

Do not the Aged of their wisdom boast?,

If that is so, why do they not extend their hand?,

Instead of condemning the soft to, in the pits of Hell, no less, roast?,

Extending to the soft only the sand on their tongue.

It is so that the Youth is raw,

Not yet even knowing what the Aged have been put to the saw,

It is an ease to be inconsiderate,
When one has not been yet faced with Life’s hardships,

So do not the Aged know enough to extend the hand of friendship, instead of hate?,

Instead of spewing the words of hate from their lips?,

So why, then, do the Aged of the Youth scorn?,

It need not be the fault of the Young if respect they do not know,

It could be from where they were born,

Unaware of what seeds they sow.

This is a cry for help from the Young,

Asking for the aid of the wizened,

For the goldened, honeyed truth from their tongue,

Instead of being sinned.


This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world


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