This generation

We would have been great
If our anthems cried of the soul’s roots,
If the free voice was listened
And pondered upon by most,
If the golden pages weren’t swept away.

Too much light killed our eyes
And we are left to just squinting a bit.
In the dawn of becoming,
There is a constellation of circumstances.

We bathe in a welcome refuge
That is a distraction.
We seldom lose our hands in the deep water
and instead we let our fingertips
tiptoe against the water’s edge.

A faith in meaning,
A utilized concept of time,
Never did we lose
What we never had,
And we aren’t victims nor terrorizers,
But a piece of word
At a page of an unending book.
We are part of history.