Time gentles us.
The harsh edge of youth, worn smooth by experience, flashes still in our eyes.
The dreams we created during marathon letters, the hopes we shared in late night talks, the idealistic beliefs in our power to craft our world still simmer within us.
We write, sing, dance and paint.
We invent and design even as we age.
Our minds conceive one more challenge, and we strive instead of giving up or giving in.
Shallowness flaws some of us who search for The-Next-Best.
Praying to the false deities of selfishness, some listen to the wrong sermons.
“If I’m happy, then . . .” becomes the excuse for broken promises and heartless escapism.
Are we the hopeful or hopeless generation?
Have we fashioned a world of possibilities or of twisted humanity?
Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
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