like the raw ripping of hearts
tearing meat from the bone
the savage beatings of a generation lost
the cold distance of a generation alone
we all wake up on the same days
and in the same beds, the same place
and we all return to sleep the same way:
with tears on our face.
and we all jump with a start
in the dead of night
and we all live with the fears
falling from our flight-

like the crash and crush of limbs
and the broken powder of it all
in a war nobody wins
where all the winners fall
this is life to us
this is dying all the same
this is just a loss
and i dont have a name.
just a faceless far-fetched hope
and these impossible wild dreams
and no ability to cope
with the endless internal screams
and i,
like all else i've come to know
have become numb and waiting to fall-
freefall descent to the dark below
and this hopelessness
leaves me
empty
and cold
and bare
at some point in this pointlessness,
like everyone else, i just ceased to care.

and now the cries of my generation
have been put to bed
'go to sleep, my embattled soul,
for one day soon, you will be dead.'

01/11/2003

Posted on 01/11/2003
Copyright © 2025 Andrew S Adams