Tired of being spectators, they threw down their beer, turned their eye from the spectacle of it all, and started clogging the gears of poisoned progress with their designer clothes, smart phones, televisions, and credit cards carrying the debt of ages.

No longer the spectators, passively accepting their elected fate, they burned the ballot box with the ember of liberty; but it was their breath of righteousness that turned that box to flame. It was only after they turned off the television that they realized their banal heroism--their right to fame.

Together they would inherit the earth in its shabby state, knowing that if they could make it past this winter, a new spring would emerge from the seed they had sewn; no man or woman could hold back the feeling of regret for the past, but it was the children, unseen and unnamed that would strip them of the past, and pave new roads to the future.