Poems can be either gay or blue,
They can be bright as day, or ponderous riddles that we struggle to construe,
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Whatever they are, one thing is for sure,
They hold the passionate key to an emotional journey we for a few minutes must endure.
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This particular poem goes out to the generations before mine,
In hopes that our age differences might somehow find a way to align;
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The past generation taught us youngsters how to think,
But as time has taken its delicate course, our generations find it harder and harder to keep in sync.
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There once was a time where right was right and truth would be trued,
But now the logic is being questioned if true and right all along has been truly misconstrued.
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Is a woman truly a woman and is a man truly a man,
Is a marriage truly true if the betrothed merely engage, just because they rightfully can?
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So you see, right and true can be two very different things,
Like the minds of smart generations, trying to combine their everythings.
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Above it all, one thing is certain, though,
All generations carries great knowledge, that fact we cannot forego.
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We learn from each generation and my previous I bow down to, to let their wisdom words christen,
But now that I have done so humbly, I wonder out loud; will my previous generation be brave enough to do the same and allow themselves to listen?
