they're young minds
untried yet, savage passions
that would devour
procrastinating old fools,
these fools that would hope
no more, themselves burnt
by chimeric fire they once spewed,
fire the young minds never saw
never knew its spark of glory
and never could understand
its trail of ashes,
a premature martyrdom
only they who became old fools
knew, died when the martyr died;
heroes were not made that way
when we're victims by design
Published in Somewhere, A Tiny Voice (1993)
