Contribution Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Free.
Are flights,
Of our imaginations taken.
To adventure and explore,
A receiving of abundant...
Diversity.
In its never ending multitude.

And there it is.
Clear.
Welcoming.
As if to await,
Our contribution to it made.
That enhances to advance,
This blessing of life...
To us given.
Coming as it has with time.

Yet,
Also...
Discovered is this time to get,
Found to find it not to last.
To take for granted,
Its limited presentation.

Quick.
It becomes more to notice,
Sunsets seem faster to come.
To stay and not to go.
Than any Sun to remember,
Appearing on the horizon.
Done.
Slow to rise.
As if unprepared,
To make an appearance.
Especially...
When the experience of youth,
Has little tolerance...
For patience.
Or the advantage thinking has.
Young folks don't think.
They react.

Only those who age,
Gracefully or not.
Are left with memories... Remininsced.

Wishing to have taken,
That opportunity to do...
Something foolish,
To contribute.
Or something known stupid.
Others may have thought...
Too risky.

When back in those days,
A risk had been considered...
Telling a teacher,
To at least know more...
About a subject taught.
And then sent to sit nervously,
In a principal's office.
Being lectured.
About how the mind is used.
To adapt and conform to rules.

For a life to live to adventure.
And explore possibilities.
To later too late to realize,
The one thing guaranteed...
Kept to keep is doubt.
And doubt without faith,
Is a disappointing way of life...
To live!