These Children

(A random poem from Friar Lawrence)

Good grief, these children,
They're all such a burden.
Always talking and screaming.
Never understanding the true meaning.
Jumping at things they really shouldn't care about.
They always yell and shout
Suicidal at every chance that they get.
Even poor, innocent Juliet.
When will they ever learn,
That they'll only get what they earn
If they do what they are supposed to,
Everything else will be easier to do.
They are the future and the present,
A few broken rules here and there. A few bent.