time marches on

the zeal of youth. their passions sear them like an all-consuming fire. burning brightly, mezmerizing and tantalizing. spreading and fanning the flames, preaching the gospel of truth as they see it, while the rest of the world stands back watching, wondering, rationalizing, puzzling. its a responsibility. a heavy one at that. this evangelizing of the young. and only the young can stand up to it. but after a time, it begins to wear them down, dragging them lower and lower until one day, they wake up, tired to the bone, their eye sight fading and their bones creaking. aches where there were none the day before. and they notice the burn is not quite so intense now. age is dousing it, cooling quicker and quicker until ice begins to form where once there was heat. and as a last concerted effort, the wrinkled hand struggles to lift the torch and pass it along to the next generation of revolutionaries.