May 2014
We are the lost generation
One would say we strayed
If there was a path to stray from
To be lost, to not know one's whereabouts is tough
When one doesn't know themselves.
A gap year will solve that problem
Or two
Or eight
Perhaps a gap life might be more appropriate
More appropriate than 3 years of falsities we label as education
Three years of losing oneself
-the self one never owned-
For instant gratification, excessive debauchery
Live now, pay later
In full, with interest
They never warn you of the interest
At some point undergo transformation,
Don't so much follow as pursue your passion as a detective seeks his criminal
Craft your philosophy and prepare for war where
Freedom fighters clash with crashes of the sharpest steel
Shame really,
To be fighting when one does not know what they are fighting for
The world burns and we feed the fire without thinking
The lights are on
Yet we are shrouded in darkness
Cast over by the shadows of our possessions
Acquired as one collects stamps or stones
Stones more like, for they will be too heavy to take with us
As will the paper our degrees are published on
As will the words I scribble furiously, daily
All because my work is by extension, me,
And so with it comes purpose
A bumpy, undefined path for me to trek on
For me to struggle and strive for an invisible finish line
Sans friends and family
Without anyone to shield me from my own monstrous thoughts
Is it fear or control which prevents me from action?
Perhaps a more suitable question for those who do
Take action
Seeing evil, hearing evil, contributing to it
Ignoring it
Ignoring the little boys and girls plucked from their homes
Or forced into silence by the ones they trust
Or watching countries storm their neighbours for no reason
Or even the most ordinary,
Where families are ripped apart and vows are broken
Where we cut and chop and mutilate our flesh to become someone's doppelganger
Where heart, honour and respect mean nothing.
Don't tell me money started this
When evil existed before money
Long before we didn't know who we were
Are.
We are the lost generation
And though I don't know how to be found
Maybe the solution
Is to find each other.
One would say we strayed
If there was a path to stray from
To be lost, to not know one's whereabouts is tough
When one doesn't know themselves.
A gap year will solve that problem
Or two
Or eight
Perhaps a gap life might be more appropriate
More appropriate than 3 years of falsities we label as education
Three years of losing oneself
-the self one never owned-
For instant gratification, excessive debauchery
Live now, pay later
In full, with interest
They never warn you of the interest
At some point undergo transformation,
Don't so much follow as pursue your passion as a detective seeks his criminal
Craft your philosophy and prepare for war where
Freedom fighters clash with crashes of the sharpest steel
Shame really,
To be fighting when one does not know what they are fighting for
The world burns and we feed the fire without thinking
The lights are on
Yet we are shrouded in darkness
Cast over by the shadows of our possessions
Acquired as one collects stamps or stones
Stones more like, for they will be too heavy to take with us
As will the paper our degrees are published on
As will the words I scribble furiously, daily
All because my work is by extension, me,
And so with it comes purpose
A bumpy, undefined path for me to trek on
For me to struggle and strive for an invisible finish line
Sans friends and family
Without anyone to shield me from my own monstrous thoughts
Is it fear or control which prevents me from action?
Perhaps a more suitable question for those who do
Take action
Seeing evil, hearing evil, contributing to it
Ignoring it
Ignoring the little boys and girls plucked from their homes
Or forced into silence by the ones they trust
Or watching countries storm their neighbours for no reason
Or even the most ordinary,
Where families are ripped apart and vows are broken
Where we cut and chop and mutilate our flesh to become someone's doppelganger
Where heart, honour and respect mean nothing.
Don't tell me money started this
When evil existed before money
Long before we didn't know who we were
Are.
We are the lost generation
And though I don't know how to be found
Maybe the solution
Is to find each other.
