Formative Years Poem by J.M Berger

All… tribal. Up in the sky. Dance and make your rain. Dance. And rejoice. Loved you once, don’t love you today. Drops. Onto these squares of earth. This place’s kings, so tired in the orange sun. They can plow, you can plow. Over this earth, these scars. But you’ll just make different scars. That’s all. These kings, some of them understand. They know it’s just a matter of getting enough out of a scar. And knowing when it’s not worth what it once was anymore. You can learn lessons, but knowing and doing aren’t the same… One thing holds. When it rains, rejoice. One more chance, if the sun will keep it’s warmth.