Voices from our own throats never tasted old enough.

Voices from our past never felt warm enough, or anything less than dead and respected.

Voices from the maw of a peer never felt heavy enough. It was still on the air, floating without the gravity of backwards corporeal consequence.

But now we're older.

Not old.

Not wise.

But older.

Wiser.

Maybe these half young throats sing a song worth hearing. 

Maybe those cold dead lessons from the risen souls once buried have met with the sun, above the clouds.

Maybe we have ingested the airborne concepts of our peers.

And all maybes aside,

I can taste it,

You can too.

Will you spit it out or chew,

Digest.