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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/121166-Metamorphosis
Rated: E · Poetry · History · #121166
Children, how they are and how they grow and how they change . . .
The schools are filled to bursting with youth.
Youth and vibration. Vibration and joy.
The children, always in motion, are everywhere,
On the buses, on the streets, on the ferries.
Like flocks of birds, they shift and congregate,
Gather and separate, clamoring, whispering,
Shouting. They flutter and they preen. They pace
And they argue. They focus on their companions,
Seeing no others as they walk in their empty world.

They are leggy and winsome, smiling gently.
They hold the fragile beauty of the very young.
They knew they are steeped in wisdom,
That they walk secure in the midst of life.
They are unaware of their vast innocence,
Unaware that they walk only on the edge of life.
They are of the world, yet not part of the world,
As they move through the rhythms of their days.

They are the future, born from the past,
Springing from the shelter of their parents,
Clothed in sweet purity, winging like arrows,
Spinning into the future, soaring and leaping.
Some will fall and some will rise, and
Some will vanish into eternal darkness.

As they are now, as seen on this clear day,
All are filled with brightness and beauty.
Yet, that beauty is transient, ephemeral.
One not too distant day, it will happen.
Each of these glowing creatures will change,
And, in that process of growth, of expansion,
That innocent beauty will be cast aside,
Left behind in their wake as a chrysalis is abandoned
By some strange new creature who will dwell
In the new century, born into a universe
Of turmoil, filled with pain and strife.

These new creatures, these new beings, will,
Through great effort, bring into existence
Another generation of beauty and joy
And each of these new parents
Will be amzed at the nature of the new
Entities brught forth by them,
From this generation into the following,
For each generation is startled by the next,
And thus it has always been.

Though they come, one from the other,
The second cannot ever walk back to
Stand with its predecessors.
This new flock of vibrant birds
Must fly alone into the future
And never look back, no, never look back.
They must not weaken but must lift their eyes
To the next challenge, the next generation,
The new world aborning.
© Copyright 2001 Bandit's Mama (sandybrace at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/121166-Metamorphosis