kid,
if (when) someday soon your parents tell you
the hope you clench in your fists
is anything but molten gold
shrug,
smile,
and take this as your go-ahead green
to carry on.

and yes,
perhaps they’re right
perhaps caring
(too much)

is nothing more than the dreadful affliction
of the young

but even so i would rather die a thousand times by its hand
than the cold drag of apathy
that epidemic of the old, that virus that
stills the angry pounding of hot blood through your veins
turns beating hearts into darkened jade

and kid,
don’t ever forget the furious way tears once 
scalded
your cheeks

and hey,
if you’re one of a million
if you can do one better
don’t ever let ‘caring too much’ dare
to age out
into ‘caring too little’
always keep a stocked and ready arsenal of
fucks to give-

but hey,
if you’re like me, if you’re like the vast majority of the rest of us
if ever you find yourself left with only one last bullet, one last
fuck to give,

spend it on inspiring another.

(even as you tumble down and look into the mirror
as you button your inoffensive white shirt
and find yourself instead wearing the same old jaded cynicism 
your father wore so well before you)

fire that dignified engine failure cry 
into the sky
and give someone with brighter eyes than yours
a signed permission slip to
carry on the torch

because maybe, heck
maybe caring too much is less the affliction of the young
and more
the obligation.