clcouch123

(x = space)

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two poems for young people

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Youth

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They (you) look so young

Not like those near altars

Of antiquity

Who are forever beautiful

But cannot move

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These might be cared for carefully

That youth might be preserved

Youth cannot be preserved

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Youth might invest their own

(your own)

So that the coming days

Are rich

With age and wisdom,

Maybe things put by

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But (you) run without avarice

Or even long ambition

Become parts of a transitory mural

That is bright

All colors

Shapes

At least three dimensions,

Which will have no museum

Save in memory

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Locksmithing

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Who holds the keys?

Why are there keys?

Why are their locks?

What is kept?

What must be freed

Up with which

From being locked?

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Behind the door

Once opened

Nothing might be withheld

But secrets of the arrogance

The avarice in

Withholding

Private parties

Boring,

Frightening without joy

From the absconded powerful

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There might be secrets

For the young to own

(they, you

should have mentors)

If taught or teach themselves

(yourselves)

How to

Break out

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This is the story

Of the end of age’s

Generation

The beginning of another

An ownership

That could calcify

So-called in privilege

Or turn around

Turn everything around

Toward all the growth

In revelation

And unwithheld resources

For life

With invention

Food, that is, and challenge

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Keeping democracy

(boo say some, but)

We need it

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C L Couch

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Burned Out at the Salton Sea

Photo by Tina Rataj-Berard on Unsplash

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