Teaching Them

The old are considered wise
For they have no brake.
Only the emergency brake
Which wallows in dust

The young are considered pretty
For the shine in the glittering moon.
They are spontaneous
With stop lights to remind them.

The old are rusted
And well rested.

The young are journeying, off-roading,
And in desperate need of towing.

Waiting for life's end,
satisfied with loving.

Chasing, dreamers, fly quickly
While love goes by only glimpsed.

At some time, the bright car
Dulls with wear, and
The engine contents
With small gifts.

For both, the road
trip must end.
Moments
Become
Prized.

The next ones will learn too.

This poem is about: 
Our world

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741