Lost Generation {Poem}.

Todd Dwyer

I see

creative renegades with limitless ideas lust in search,

of what exactly they are unsure,

posing more questions, thirsting for answers,

cringing at conformity,


They wake

aching temples, clouded thoughts,

reckless dreamers avoiding obligation,

playing hard, scrambling to produce exceptional work,

sifting through digital clutter,


They need

to enhance ordinary,

achieve perfection,

aiming too high, popping capsules of toxic opportunity,

gravitating towards passionate illusions,

they must excel,

be right, don’t ask questions, don’t be wrong,

money is the end, money is the reason,

they are confused,


what do you want from them?


They are entranced

by laser music notes,

sweat beads glisten their day-glo painted bodies as they tangle,  twist and jive,

glittered beats vibrate their imaginations,

preoccupied with individualistic notions,

drinking up fear, coughing up drunken aspirations, inhaling rationalizations,

they don’t sleep,


They watch

officials polarize their nation,

smirking with ignorant disbelief at what has yet to be achieved,

disproportionately represented, they criticize,

pursuing some escape from the spin that is spat,


is it possible to accomplish significant reform?


Their daring hearts fall

into multifaceted, undercover love affairs,

spiraling into sexcapades free of consequence,

countless unworthy lovers provide minimal satisfaction,

obsession with instant gratification leaves no space for love,


where does this leave them?


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