Bore The Next Generation Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

The curse of being young and vibrant 'always',
Stays on the minds of those chasing youth.
With a wanting to remain at mid bloom and vivid.
But to live to age and visit each stage of life,
And accept each forward step as making progress...
So many regret to attempt to reject the process.
Looking stressed to leave their limbs,
To eventually wither without a needed rest...
That keeps them successfully strengthened.

The curse of being young and vibrant 'always',
Stays on the minds of those chasing youth.
To have it believed,
That the best fruits to pick as early as possible...
Are those plucked from the vine,
'Before' experiencing the time...
When they are at their most sweetest.

'Why should I want 'anything' that's about to die? '

And that's the reason why you kill yourselves,
Trying to prevent the inevitable?
With a doing to delude an excused satisfaction.
Or believe that which ages does not excite?

'Uh...what? '

A mind kept exercised can realize any possibility.
You want your appearance with ignorance sustained.
Instead of keeping the rhythm of life with you felt.
And those plucked from the vine before experiencing the time...
To be peeled with it done slowly may have the presence,
But the taste one wishes to appreciate never stays.
Quick pickings end to never satisfy a long lasting taste.

'What are you going to tell me next?
You encouraged 'Moses' to talk to the Burning Bush? '

To the who?
To the what?
WHAT?
Uh?

'I'm on a horse in a race with other game players.
You may remember your ride on donkeys.
I don't.
Even though I do hope to grow as old as you are,
To bore the next generation.'

Uh...what?