Yearning.

 No worth since birth

from outside learned

way beyond or below concern

oh, how the young did yearn

for all but the stern

oh, how the young did yearn

to be old with wisdom earned

but the old wish dominates the urn

within atmospheric burns

how long left, becomes the only question 

with no rights to turn.

Slammed doors in place of a child's face

commonplace is an adults disgrace

that grew the jealousy that others felt safe

oh, how the young did yearn for even a trace

of love and trust for, of the human race 

without the need for the chase

with age comes wisdom that the young's replaced

with memories encased of how we died with haste

oh, how the old do yearn, for even a taste of what we waste.

 

Green green grass called home.

Green green grass of home

was a greenhouse that I sold

for sake of broken glass and stones that stayed whole

a pebbled path to what was lost, turned into a main road

for fast cars with high beams that highlight the cold

so huddle for warmth to find only me I could hold

with clouded skies that gift the rain to feel less alone

and a lullaby like thunder to soothe the mind of its woes

to wake to tomorrow and see what I'm told

for one day it will be a garden to rest my weary soul

with birds and trees, bees and flowers and honey like gold

in my damp and loud, green green grass of home.