This fertile garden bears
The passing of time
In the lives that bloom
Evergreen
on sturdy, scarred trunks,
Growing ever so tall as
Their shady canopies tower over
Tiny shoots whose roots
Yet cling to the earth,
Feeble and determined.
Little shoots that soon dig
Ever deeper into earth
(too deep!)
Little stems that grow
Into trunks that dare
To match the ones
that still tower over
Them
(how dare you?)
Little shoots turned now
Into young trees
Ever growing, roots
Ever reaching, hopeful
and dreaming of the sun
And sky, still settling in
To call this ground home.
They reach for the sky-
Longing to be
out of the shadows
Cast by the looming,
aging, aged
trees-
in vain.
For these towering trees,
Remain the tallest of us all,
Their imposing canopy
Casting shadows were light
Is needed most.
Perhaps we’re blessed, then
For we are not trees.
Obviously.
Author’s Note: This is a limited, perhaps rather silly perspective of how the older generation treats the younger generation, as per the title. It is a problem that persists in most societies, but especially ours, and too many factors play into it that I honestly had trouble pinpointing where it was that struck to me as crucial. So, I went with this.
About the Author
23, preferring she/her, a student who is confused about how life is supposed to go as she presses stubborn and lingering thoughts into even more stubborn words on paper.