This is a poem for my generation
written on a Monday at the office,
while I Facebook and YouTube
instead of filing and data entry.
Because I'm trying to peer over the wall of time
and spy on a life I had once, where we all went to high school together
and cut classes in favor of the beach and the woods
and driving around in your parents convertible without their permission.
And in the dark of the night my footsteps make no noise,
and the cars on the high way are a river of fire.
I am followed by my street light shadow,
these are train tracks and other metaphors.
Where are we? We wonder out loud,
to each other, and to ourselves, and to no one in particular...
Who have we become, and who did we want to be?
And did we lay our plans with as much care as we should have?
Probably not. But there's no time now to,
Lament some of my moments of execution..
Where I lost my grace, and fell out of they eyes of honesty,
and struck out.
And in the dark night my footsteps make no noise,
and the road to anywhere is paved with dreams.
I am followed by my street light shadow,
these are train tracks and other metaphors.
We are treading water somewhere between the shores of Child
and the rocky horizon of Adult.
We are piled into rowboats, some of us with children,
some of us with men, and some of us without..
We are filled with wanting and painted in covetous technicolors-
We dare to dream the American Dream that our parents dreamed
and distilled from their parents who dreamed and distilled it from
their parents, and now it holds just a drop if it's original elixir, but we dream on.
And in the dark of my dreams my footsteps make no noise,
and the yellow brick road rolls out a red carpet.
I am followed by my street light shadow,
these are train tracks and other metaphors.
I want to live in a big house with a porch
and a yard for my garden and animals and children,
and a barn so I can hang my half moon out on the eaves
and wind chimes from the rafters.
Maybe I will have some chickens,
and a goat, or a pig...
And I'll make pottery and beaded necklaces
in between pulling weeds and putting on plays with the neighborhood kids.
And in the dark before the dawn my footsteps make no noise,
and the path we walk is unmarked and winding.
I am followed by my street light shadow,
these are train tracks and other metaphors.
I have to write this down because I FORGET MYSELF (all the time....)
and then go throwing blame at every one around me.
Telling them they don't know who I am,
when really it's me, making a false idol of myself.
And at least we are all lost together,
you and me, and all of us, in our rowboats,
between here and the future,
still updating on Facebook, to validate our existence.
And in the light of day my footsteps make no noise,
and the faces of strangers are all familiar to me.
I am followed by my street light shadow,
these are train tracks and other metaphors.
