By Bob Dougherty
Some think hunger is just a stage echoing within younger people,
a part of the ruckus of finding the way to the flame we all seek.
Others know seeking is the way toward justice without blame
and youth is darkness never daunted while wisdom is morning light.
Hope rises with pursuits never lingered in circles of contentment,
as we untangle the rope that makes us behave the conquered.
The staid shout, “harlot”, “debauchee”, but they are left gasping;
as steadily they start to see the world wrought with our freedoms
beauty in a rasping bass bold colors wear scarlet if it feels right.
No longer haunted by saints of the past we spend our time adorning
the halls of the future for those whose imperative hangs on the very edge
of our primal thought and it is readily apparent that this is not a simple
prerogative moving us toward the future. It is what hardens our fangs.
Some think hunger is just a stage echoing within younger people,
a part of the ruckus of finding the way to the flame we all seek.
Others know seeking is the way toward justice without blame
and youth is darkness never daunted while wisdom is morning light.
Hope rises with pursuits never lingered in circles of contentment,
as we untangle the rope that makes us behave the conquered.
The staid shout, “harlot”, “debauchee”, but they are left gasping;
as steadily they start to see the world wrought with our freedoms
beauty in a rasping bass bold colors wear scarlet if it feels right.
No longer haunted by saints of the past we spend our time adorning
the halls of the future for those whose imperative hangs on the very edge
of our primal thought and it is readily apparent that this is not a simple
prerogative moving us toward the future. It is what hardens our fangs.
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