These words aren’t for the young,
rather the old, who’ve lost their tongue,
whose voices haven’t yet matured,
those still waiting to be heard.

For others to pause and hear,
your convictions must become clear,
spoken from wisdom gathered through tears,
and experiences collected over many years.

Your skin must thicken to criticism,
your ears deafen to cynicism,
that voice which speaks when night falls,
trust it — to lead you through self-imposed walls.

Speak sparingly, words chosen with care,
we have too much, and too little, time to spare.

Later — we’ve strung out as the dangling reward,
fooling ourselves with another’s goals to move us forward,
discontent causing us to lash out in disgrace,
cursing the wait that keeps us in place.

Wisdom travels by the side of age,
illuminating pointless wars within we wage,
urging the shedding of distorted beliefs,
that restrict — predict, causing unnecessary griefs.

Stop letting time slip away carrying with it regrets,
and cursing yourself with empty threats,
take it by the throat and slow it’s reign,
let your actions and words leave a stain,
on the hearts of every man and woman that follow,
those whose throats also swell with each swallow,
of conformity, and our pre-defined lives,
cutting into our guts like a thousand knives.

Your life is the canvas — your body, your mind, your spirit,
you are the writer, the painter, the sculptor — create it.