Dear Plato Poem by Ernest Hilbert

When it comes to love and peace, that’s it,
We will never really learn to grow up.
Tantrums scorch; jealous, hurtful flares bear light
In the darkness we fashion from splendid
Old grudges. As if bored, we interrupt
Days with insults that keep us up all night.
In the sandbox of suburbs, swing-sets of cities,
We endure and grin, reach for temptations,
Struggle to decide why we are not more pleased
With success or acquisition. We tease
Out some turmoil from order, privations
From abundance; catch only to release:
The way of the human variety,
Not even happy just being happy.