we wrestle long with those before
who do not seem to comprehend
the way the world has changed, amid
the broken ways that they defend
we walk to work to change the world
then turn to look, alone and sore,
astonished that we're where we are,
and that we now are
"those before"
how many feet have trod these paths
how many laughs across this yard
it all is new when we are new
and when no hopes from us are barred
by years, or by experience,
the voices telling us that we
are just like all of those before:
imperfect, flawed,
humanity
