Juvenile Youth

Like golden skies, these simple souls they follow.

Wanting, needing another breathe, as so many take to coals, hot as the
sun

And memorize names.

And bodies.

And movements the same.

Their papers are burning atop of their heads. With black gums of smiles
and plastic gazes,

They come toward me, laughing.

I need not their tears of laughter!

Nor dismay against my desperation.

Take your burning stumps and papers
to your grave!!!

Take and give your smiles to the undertaker!!

At night, black as their souls, they venture toward the music.

Befalling the talents with ruined movement
And damp footsteps

How many will converge upon his notes?

Even in silence?