lost

generations...passing and coming.the cry of a nation in turmoil while the stench of canibus floats from cells long since dead.stagnant and impervious,they march onward~singing the song of victimization.it has worn out its welcome by now.yet the seed of tomorrow is germinated in a brown belly marked as psychologically damaged...sections of eight are strewn with insipid souls that dream of flight..soaring over the decay and ash which mocks the elders...is this not what one sixty and five hath wrought from the womb?writhing into existence,only to realize that death stands wearily posturing and pointing the way.or should jim and the black bird of 1928 be a better starting point?more suitable in giving less time to ignorance and bliss?the collective heartbeat of an era has eluded enlightenment and pounds at the entrance to apathy.the polarization of poverty,perpetuating and strong...free yet imprisoned by self.shed not sorrow for the past,for it has control of its own...weep for the present tragedy which stares greedily into the face of innocence.