Those who die young are the ones we need most.
Aggressive supporters of a full life.
Peaked potential piques those who don’t follow.
Flourishing efforts and whole sacrifice.
Holistic health that serves to cleanse your soul.
Ironic they find betrayal as death.
None more wanted and needed than those gone.
“Come back,” we plead, despondent and silent.
Falls on deaf ears when the weak serve the strong.
Natural order, but who determines?
It is not man’s place to define your worth.
Come along, pretty ducklings. Waddle fast.
The ugly swan brings terror, forgets change.
Releases frustration against the kings.
“Not here, not now, not ever will you rule!”
He shouts at men who trample those below.
Denied existence, rejected, persists.
A poor man’s version of our heroes passed.
We’d welcome with open arms the formers.
If they’d be unafraid to come again.
So much need, yet so little fulfillment.
Shatter the glass when you find it empty.
He throws his hands up because there’s no hope.
Nothing to look forward to. Can’t embrace.
Another unknown empty swept by time.