You can trust your friends and live together
sharing out what you have forever.
The flowers will bloom and you’ll laugh in the heather.
They’ll give you your what-will-be(s).
The stars will fall around your head,
pointing out your words, orange and red.
They’ll raise you up, born and bred.
Bedtime praying on your knees.
Party animals will spill their cocktails.
Drunkenmentaries will tell their tales
or spew up if all else fails.
You’ll get into Zen.
But the truth might hit as you hit the pillow:
Those wartime bells that rang out hollow
will become your alarm clocks come tomorrow.
Boys will die before they’re men.
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Author: aprettykettleofpoetry
