Being a Kid Is Tough

Being a kid is tough, 'cause they
Can tell you what to do.
Nothing is completely yours.
Your jail is your home.

People love you--that's OK--
And do nice things for you.
But what you want are open doors
To fields where you can roam.

Eighteen

Eighteen is a windswept borderline:
In a moment, gates forever closed.
Gulf of dreams behind the vanished child,
Halfway round the corner of her smile.
The change flaps in the breeze, but in a while
Each motion turns to dance, each gesture wild
Eventually is placed, positioned, posed:
No leaping for sheer joy but by design

Eighteen is a time of liberation.
Intentions now begin to swell to song.
Given the glory of one's aspiration,
How can one's life story turn out wrong?
There is a passion in one's preparation,
Eager for the hills that make one strong,
Eager for the sense of each sensation,
Not knowing what fair fate might come along.

Eighteen has no answers but her own,
Intent on yielding nothing to despair.
Glad tidings, if they come, must come alone,
Having crossed the desert, bleak and bare.
There is no heaven suitable for hope,
Even in the ecstasy of dreams.
Each moment is more limited in scope,
Not one ounce more transcendent than it seems.

Thirteen

Thirteen is a very lucky age!
Happiness comes tumbling out the door
Instantly a-giggle with a friend,
Returning with the bounce of empty bliss.
There's no better ecstasy than this,
Even when the strange teen changes end,
Even when one finally knows the score.
No time of life's more bubbly than this stage.

Sweet Sixteens Are Harbingers of Grace

Sweet Sixteens are harbingers of grace,
Intimations of a childhood's end,
Xxx's on the envelope of time.
This invitation I to you extend,
Easy in the rush of time and place,
Expecting in the moment's silver chime
No more than just a glimpse of life to come.