Each generation is a new wave
rising, then frothing in swirls
that imprint marks in history
with indelible ink
writing a suspenseful mystery.
I watch the children play
mingling movement, laughter, dance
along with an unabashed exposure
of their joy. I play too, but awkwardly,
a stranger in a foreign land, learning
enough words to get by.
But enough of words and metaphors
that distance me from real emotions of my life.
It's my grandchildren who represent
the future I won't see, it is their
generation whose imagination, undulating
in new waters, will design what needs to be.
It's my personal love for them that keeps me
wanting the world to succeed at evolution,
at revolution never before seen,
because it happens at a level deeper than cellular,
it happens where imagination's never been,
it happens somewhere in a wave so high
it crashes so hard, it cracks all that is
and suddenly... something new,
if not bigger - better, better, better!
This is how I control my mind,
allowing only thoughts of better futures,
otherwise waves of worry flood
the happy play I'm trying to learn
before I wave goodbye to the kids I love.
(For Poets United.)