We are a generation,
Indeed, a nation,
Raised upon foreign warring.
Scapegoat aggravation.
Bushes and *****
Clamoring for horror and hoarding.

Conspiring against a population,
I watch through youthful aging.
With my childlike eyes, I see
The target they're blaming:
Afghan families having more
in common with me,
Working class American,
Than those transparent heirs
With the world's wealth and arrogance,
Ordering for the villagers' obliteration
Through boys from our nation.

We are a generation raised
On media sensation
Of militarized devastation;
Animal exploitation;
Technological manifestations
Providing privacy infiltration.
Material attainments;
Mental frustrations;
Fiat debt enslavement;
A nation entranced by
Senseless parading.

Tempting decadence and
Announcements with no evidence.
The September bounty of edifice
That fell with no hesitance
Still echo its unfounded,
Preemptive pretenses.

This murderous reign;
this senseless parade;
Advertisement cyclical
in their game of charades;
Dog on a chain;
Famine causing no pain.
Permissible opinions
To be solely maintained.

The damage, the waste,
The heinous race and class chase.
Oppression remains thoughtlessly dangerous,
As moral responsibility brings no attainments.
Chowing down on maimed millions
Bellowing from enslavement.

Fortunately, elder,
Rothschild, Rockefeller, or
Those above them whom
Remain blackened, faceless:
Resistance shall come
From all places, all ages.
Such as this generation of mine
Inheriting increasing complications,
With the type of America
You wish to keep in rotation.

I'll carry the flag containing
Your mistakes as a symbol,
To remind those behind me
What not to rekindle.

To the Boomer who stews
In your white collar suit,
Still refusing to shake
Your destructive pursuit,
Still asking me to lick
Off authority's boot:

Growing up in this nation,
With childhood innocence,
I grew increasingly aware
Of the land of such ignorance.
I had such thoughts since
Early adolescence,
I was not blind to larger lessons.
Only since supported by
Actual, factual supported confessions.

To the Boomer tied to his convictions,
Now will you see-
That isn't going to work
For us or for me.
I'll bring to this world
Whatever I please.
Which so happens to be
Truth, justice, and peace.

The kaleidoscope patterns of our footprints in the sand
And those of the seagulls that litter the beach
Like black and white winged pebbles
Are slowly being washed away by the rising water line,
Time and the encroaching tide welcoming us
Into the sea, with the Dolphins and the mermaids
Swimming and lounging on little mountains of rock
Close to the shore, beckoning us into their world.

Our world lies further back, behind the tide line,
The umbrellas and sunscreen and such
To shield us from the blazing sun
That sustains all life in their realm and ours,
And is, perhaps, the first and strongest connection we share
In this blinding world of sand and sunshine,
Where we and them become us.

We wade into the sea, all tentative, coltish legs
And shivers as the waves crash over us.
Everything turns magical as we dive in,
The underwater world blinding us with
It's salty, sandy currents and steams,
But through the rose tint borne
Of our foreignness in this place,
All I can see are dreams coming true.

A lady of the sea paddles up to us,
Offering us her treasures if we'll come
Live in her coral home and breathe the same salt water,
And I, lost in her world, found in her beauty,
Reach out to take her pale hand in mine,
And become as she says,
"I am yours, forever now, as you are forever mine."