Many is the time

Many is the time

Sad eyes, afraid of compromise

Glide away from youthful things

They are all so taught and perfect

Do they know I wonder?

Are they as lost as we

When all is said the pressure

To perform

As if one is full of self-love

Is as it always was

Perhaps the bane of all

Is the burden of expectation

To be young and without doubt

Is a rare thing

Even as public schools turn out

The unexceptional

By default

To be a bully in the ring

It was always a false assumption

Self-belief can still be lost

Yet found in the most unexpected places

Fresh flowers full of bloom

Are still cut at the stem

And hide

A brooding pain of disconnect,

Belonging strengthens faint hearts

It is a buttress

To set against the world

Loner’s have it all to do

For themselves

Swimming hard against

A rising tide

If they want to break through

From the grip of an undertow

What is certain is contempt

For failure seems to fester

Early on

In all but blythe spirits

Maggots become Blowflies

Circling a carcass

Afraid to be exposed

For what it might become

Following the swarm

Looking at their elders

Fearing a relentless progress

Toward them

As in their turn

The winsomely mature look back

Less in anger as regret

In reflection of a process

Warding against

The pain of disenchantment

Nothing given

Nothing spared

When so much can be learned

In a mutuality of respect.