Fantasy dream; caught in the between of reality caught in these nets of generation’s imagination. Desiring self *** appeal,—only the ones who’ve got the guns for creation. Violence runs the streets; a marathon of the fatherless kids brought into the world. Tell them not to be bent out of shape if you dare, but any blow of the wind causes them to fold.
Tender kisses of mama; spoiled a child: Rotten as blackened teeth holes of the sweetest treats, a long while since a tame domesticated the wild. This child! Has only witnessed domestic violence all of their life. Stepped on stepfather; beating the daylights out of them every night.
Seeking approval; where the approved are only the kids who break the rules. “There goes the youth,“ they’d often say. Unknowingly the same band of troubled young mother’s go on their knees each night to pray.
But you’ll just bat an eye away from them; ignore a present problem, still looking to a future’s gain. Or take advantage of a youngster, then claim their misconduct being only by an upbringing as to blame. Where are the men?
To show a son how to love and respect, a daughter a hand of gentle protection, Teaching lessons of wisdom never to forget, not of their words becoming a weapon. To not settle for less when there’s always a best, don’t let the shortest sad times become a deep long depression.
In the end what will our future be; if we’re not being the future we’ll leave for our young to follow, Don’t glance at it with wallow, build yourself strong,—build that strong tomorrow.