Wayward Sons And Daughters Poem by Pasquale DiMeola

There never was a blueprint
To follow through on your lives
Somewhere the instructions were shredded
Words fell out of our mouths like moths
Trying to guide you to the blinking light
Of a foundation we failed to uphold
For our own miserable existence
As the world and its self proclaimed philosophers
Became the ammunition for a lifestyle
Ignoring traditional ways left far behind
Impressionable avenues of superior transformation
To a place of crabs scrambling out of slippery buckets
Constantly falling backwards onto heaps of sharp claws
Until your resigning spirits acquiesce
And you age into the monsters once resented
The parents you have become.