White feathers and flat tires: /
Lost dreams to which we aspire /
Ride the wild wind and rocky road /
As we struggle through life’s occluded code. /
We plug in experience and face neglect. /
We bet on love with a gambler’s regret. /
We dare to be bold, but run a timid race, /
Girding our loins, defending our space. /
The night is young, but the day is old. /
The young seek mercy; the old only scold. /
Wisdom is a feather forgotten by the roadside. /
We leave nothing to chance, not even the rock slide. /
We bury our tomorrows in things we bought /
And deal with the past as if it were a bill best forgot.
by David E. Booker
Booker's Blog 