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The Adolescent Essence
Essence: something that is, or exists...
In every adult
ever invented resides
A former tenant, a remnant of growth, an adolescent.
The essence of adolescence is a flavor,
Delicious to
some yet distasteful to others;
Most often with a dash of both.
Yesterday’s youth had a different flavor, an ancient
Recipe repeated
and refined through generations.
Today is fast food, the art of adolescence supplanted by convenience.
Before, the essence was subtle and special, a taste
You could sense
but not name. Now the
Flavor is harsh, typical, the same everywhere.
If adolescence had been an animal, it would
Have been the
cocoon, halfway between
Crawling and flying.
Today’s adolescence is a chameleon, wearing masks of camouflage
To prevent us
looking closely. Or a porcupine, armored on the outside
While trying to protect the vulnerable parts underneath.
Where once the transportation of adolescence was
Courage, today
movement is encumbered
By wishful thinking.
Were adolescence to be a business, we would have found
La Botanica Majica,
peddling the magic of life.
Today’s version could be part of any strip mall.
If adolescence were a time of day, it would have been
Midnight, the
cusp. Today, adolescence
Is tomorrow, anything but today.
Were adolescence a sound or noise,
It would once
have been a question. Today it
Is a shout, and a whisper.
Should adolescence become something around the house,
It would have
appeared a doorway or passage,
Rather than today’s closed door.
Looking back at adolescence as a place,
We see it was
a crossroads,
Now more of a street corner.
The machine of adolescence was paradox, a glue
Complicated yet
simple, only to now be
Anything new and easy, and easily cast aside.
Looked at as a character from another time,
Adolescence was
the Hero, a bigger person waiting to be born.
Now, it is James Dean, lonely in isolation, angered by neglect.
The treasure of adolescence was its metamorphosis, the simple
Labyrinth path
to adulthood. Today’s treasure is a
Silver maze, tarnished and dull from lack of care.
© Bret Stephenson
2/26/02
Last Updated April 12, 2003