the quieted

once
with such a loud voice & so much youthful energy
nothing could stop this seemingly
unstoppable
force &
in awe,
people stood on the sidelines
watching it take distance in leaps & bounds
as if up ahead
all there was to be had
would be
further
progress.

it was full of itself
it was more beautiful than a vision of the cosmos
when viewed through the sexiest lens manufactured
it was perfect, prismatic, persistent &
practical in its laying of plans.

everyone & everything was, of course,
supposed to act accordingly
in cahoots with the young & blissful,
error-free & in the business of molding those
around it in order to better itself.

oh so loud were the melodies it sang
so loud were its ideals
so loud were its thoughts (as to blurt out all else)
so frequent were its accomplishments
so little did it care about
anything else.

and then it slammed face first into a wall---
this wall, ever so strong,
was thicker & more sustainable than any idea,
any vision, any thought, any melody that had once been
produced
by the young wonder &
faced with a path of resistance
(in which struggle would present itself at every junction
made possible, offering no life free of stress, etc.),
or one of complete reconstruction
in which to work like a cog in a greater mechanism
(free of any struggle, stress, etc.),
it would have to toss out all its own independent
thoughts, ideals, melodies & visions
so that it would quietly rumble with the rest of
em’---

it gave up everything & remains to this day,
quieted.