Impatient Life Poem by Poet Dragon

We qualify ourselves for silent sorrow
in the fiery, sometimes tender grasp of time
whine that we will never have enough
that our love will never thrive beyond the crime

We're terrified that death will soon consume us
that experience will flounder and fall short
and hope that every squeal of tires is practice
that the real thing cannot happen while we sport

In exigency we tarry for a decade
sometimes two or more are common for the crowd
perhaps thinking of the finer things, we hurry
while ignoring the approaching of the shroud

For us humans we are lucky that we grow up
leave the worries of our childhood far behind
we can learn the pace of patience in a heartbeat
and let all the stressful tendencies unwind