Buns and Corners

We are the generation of -isms that put to words, the issues of the past
Each day, each month, each year I learn an -ism that I didn’t know
Scrambling to understand everything that is wrong and that which can last.
Each right of the day, the wrong of the next, the right of a few, the wrong of a few more
The sure strides I took, the passion, the pages, all seem to wobble a little bit more
And a little bit less, and then a little less sure I become each day.
Convictions of past that obliterate round the dinner table
Convictions nevertheless, that I know not to defend against the punchlines and noise and the certainty of the confident
The anxiousness that grows a little more each day, as I navigate the ins, the outs, the rights, the wrongs
Of a world that is still and that evolves; a game of catch up it becomes each day
Though I know not what I will catch up to, the bills, the job, the respect, the chores, the news, the health, the routine, the peace
The unwavering sides, the left, the right, the right, the wrong, the -isms that I know not of
The little less bright is the glow in my heart, a little less passion in the speeches I make
A little more quiet each day I become, a little more pause, a little more dull
To play catch-up, to do right, to know more before I say more
Each day I falter a little bit more, more than it seems the steps I hear next to me
Each day I feel I know a little less than the fellows next door, each day it seems the navigation is a little bit off
A little behind, drowning in -isms I know not of, desperate to know to do what is right
To walk into a year with wisdom abound and yet here I am, swirling in it all
a little less of it all, a little behind them all; grappling with a world that seems to do a bit better with me running behind it.