The Dying Art Of Living


Glorious Results Of A Misspent Youth

In warm months I sit in a summery haze,
And harken back to the good old days,
When helmets and sunblock not in use,
Did not meet with accusations of child abuse.

And we spoke freely without worrying about connotations,
Of possible discriminations,
And people not on the verge of being homicidal,
All for the lack of thought to recycle.

We didn’t have to worry about being thought a sinner,
For serving our children frozen dinners,
And food served a purpose to tantalize,
Not ruined by critics who analyze.

And while our years may have increased in quantity,
Perhaps it makes up for what it’s lost in quality,
But if you don’t mind, I’ll be going back a bit,
To the years when no one gave a shit.


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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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