times

Times they were stunted and malnourished
As the ideas that fed them (and fed on them)
From limbless trees labeled “knowledge,”
And kegs of hope impossibly shallow.
From the diluted collective consciousness
To the atrophied souls of youth,
It was the land of the lost
(only less entertaining and
Minus the dinosaurs).

All of our great novels lay unfinished
As did the lives that supplied them.
But there were just too many words
About crossroads and destiny
That it clogged the arteries of imagination
And cramped the styles of those
Less self-absorbed than us.

We conspired to revive a lost generation,
Presumed to speak the thoughts of many
But we could hardly organize our own.
We were prepared to change the world
With our pens
But sadly, no one was listening.