Just yesterday, 

we were rolling down lush green hills

and eating sun-melted popsicles,

dripping sticky sweet through our fingers,

staining our hands purple as wine. 

We were climbing ancient oak trees

And fishing for frogs 

in a still green creek,

blanketed in sweet summer moss.

We were playing tag

and running through abandoned fields

dotted in beautiful yellow weeds 

and sweet with fairy magic. 

But today,

we are driving

and walking through hallways

with laminate floors,

sitting through long lectures.

We are rushing home 

with essays to write

and calculations to make 

and textbooks to read. 

We are clocking in 

and working 

and leaving

and doing laundry

and cleaning

with bleach that burns

and tears that sting.

And that’s all. 

Tomorrow,

will we continue a cycle 

which spirals down,

down,

down,

and ends the same way it has been

for the last sixty years?

Will we work like a dog,

mean and bitter, 

foaming at the mouth?

Or blind and wailing

like a basset hound?

Will we live

just to work,

just to eat,

just to sleep, 

and hope for the end. 

Or tomorrow, 

will we learn to laugh again?

Will we learn to roll down emerald hills,

or eat popsicles,

or swim in a glistening creek? 

Will we learn to wonder again?

Will we learn to climb sturdy old trees, 

or run because we can, 

not just because we have to. 

What will we do

yesterday,

today,

and tomorrow?