To my naïve generation,
yielding,
too inexperienced for truth.
Politics, panic, purgatory yet untouched.
We hardly know
love from lust.
To my gullible generation,
unthinking,
with media’s unending hiss.
Bidders buy young minds.
Convinced to believe anything
we don’t believe in ourselves.
To my angry generation,
rebelling,
with misplaced red rage.
Misdirected feelings lash.
Who should we blame?
Because we’re fighting ourselves.
To my apathetic generation,
unfeeling,
with stilled hearts,
ignored into atrophy.
Not caring,
nor caring to know.
To my despondent generation,
anguishing,
hope lost to bleak prospects.
Discouraging thoughts of
overpromised futures.
None seem to fit.
To my fragile generation,
crying,
I know how hard we’re trying.
