New recruits to this thing called life
Fresh and green, eyes open wide,
Being introduced to your new life,
Being grown up is the new child like.
It's hard to connect your youth to your future maturity,
After all what does that mean?
It's time to be a different person now,
Same fingerprint, but the old you takes a bow
and leaves the stage for retirement,
the fun and games are gone and went,
and you must "grow up" a back so bent with new responsibilities,
new requirements.
How do I connect who I used to be to who I should be?
Does my child-like personality need to be put to rest
in order for my maturity to pass life's tests?
How does one evolve into a full grown human?
Is it easy?
Or does maturity bloom in the spring
like the flowers blossoming?
Do I go into a cocoon and wait a while,
bake a while,
and then emerge a robust and mature being?
How do I go about living?
I will always be a kid in someone else's eyes,
They will always see me as beneath their level of worldly-wise,
After all, what do I know, I
I was born yesterday,
Well yesterday is the future and I'll embrace it come what may.
It's not like a have a choice anyway.
New recruits to life, for some a game or war,
They like to play with time, until it knocks on their door,
And then recruits become veterans, now all old and grey,
Ready to judge the next set that was born just yesterday.
So the cycle goes, generations stacked up high,
They leave their marks upon the world
And their scars in the sky,
But despite how new it feels
To be young and fresh and green,
You are one in an age long list of recruits
To be new and to be seen.
SK
