The moving castle: Part I (For Allen Ginsberg)

I watched my generation 

be penetrated straight through 

and then disentegrated by

injustice

I watched the Negro vagabonds 

grovel on all fours 

with only steel to make them powerful

Naked and still crying

to be nurtured

My generation

became the epitome of idiocracy

built castles out of papaer and pretended to be worthy

only again to forget 

I watched my generation turn to madness

attempting to escape a world

only to be trapped in another

collapsing and collinding 

subsiding my dying

my generation is made of numbers

and hands clenched around iron bars

their story quiet 

forced silence 

My generation can't help but clutch onto false things

to afraid to be different

they speak in a voice monotonous 

that comes out dry and withered 

like the winds of bitter winters

when we can't help but recall with anguish

that we will forever be ordered back to the kitchen

while others dine on the fruits of our wrath 

on the very table that we have set 

I saw my generation

destroy each other

force themselves on one another

all the while moving their gnashing jaws

raw did they consume 

eating and eating 

while others stood uncaring or judging but unwilling to move

or stand 

I watched dreams shatter

I watched as no one helped

I watched as my generation blasphemed any Gods

thrust up middle fingers to the heavens

for those whose misssing went unmattered

for those who lay battered and beaten

broken

My generation is broken 

and is breaking 

what once was innocent 

defiled, image defaces

howling

spare change and rations

lay sleeping in streets

shouting non-sensical sayings

spouted from a brain

that is malnourished 

whi knew nothing of the world

that surrounded him, but lived in a bowl

waste laid onto their souls

My generation is suffering and questions:

who will speak for them?

relay the words that elude them 

so that they may live

so that they may thrive

who will pull them from the deepest pits of Tartarus?

Stop them from plunging into the abyss of seemingly harmless flowers

plug their noses from the leaking aphrodisiacs 

that in reality lat poisonous 

My generation cracks 

like glass 

fragile 

but no one will notice the unspoken beauty that lies in fragile things

"speak poet"

yes fragile things

My generation speaks

go against the grain bohemians 

who dance under pens 

from which they sprang 

My generation stands

on two legs like man

slowly we rise 

My generation unweakened

and prevailing

My generation transforming