Generations Pass 

Born into a family of three,
Two sisters one brother.
A child so care free
White picket fences couldn't contain. 

And each day at dinner,
Silver spoon in each hand,
The family would act like a family.
Really talked. Really laughed. 

All the dreams in the world.
All given to you.
All formed by pencils and crayons.
All the universe at your demand. 

As the days go by,
Seasons quickly to change,
Kindergarten would end soon.
High school would end the same. 

Everyday on the playground
The boys would flock to meet you.
High school was no different.
Girls flocked to meet you too. 

Mere steps away
From taking your place.
A prom King and his Queen.
Royalty doesn’t hesitate. 

A star athlete
Now a star employee.
A suburban kid living in the city.
New challenges to meet. 

Rising above the ranks,
Your skills you quickly deploy.
Enough money to make another move.
A city boy no more. 

Back to church you go,
Just like when you were a kid.
A church lady with an abusive boyfriend.
Your arms provide comfort within. 

People fall in love,
Like people always do.
Sometimes they move in together.
Sometimes you follow suit. 

It didn’t take long,
The miracle of life did happen.
The man who was once a kid
Now has kids of his own to cherish.

Instilled upon them
All the values instilled upon you.
You even had a white picket fence.
Silver spoons came with it too. 

Oh how you and the boys
Liked to romp and play.
Your daughter to prissy.
No time for boyish games

Christmas came and Christmas went.
Every year new toys.
A feast at every Thanksgiving.
A family man everyday. 

And so a time came,
Your three sons moved out.
A daughter still too young.
Still locked up in the house. 

But eventually you were alone,
Just you and your wife.
Your kids now had kids.
Your hair all white. 

So there you sit,
A big house of memories.
The idea of changing the universe gone.
Every crayon you have is broken and worn.. 

We all know that day will come,
But you never thought it would end like this.
An old feeble man slipping out of the shower.
Cracking his head as he went. 

Laying on his back,
Faced up,
With the world looking down.
How pointless some things can be, 

Just like this poem. 

cori graham