Children of America

Children of America

A Poem by Phillip Francis

We are children, disguised as adults.

America is divided; each side aspiring different results.  

 

We are children, pretending that we care.

America is misled; each community is easy to scare.

 

We are children, no longer evolving.

America is complacent; evading the problems she needs to be solving.

 

We are children, educated by ignorance.

America is delusional; believing politicians will bring her deliverance.

 

We are children, always desiring more…and more…and more.

 

We are children, craving self-satisfaction.

America is narcissistic; oblivious to her own actions.  

 

We are children, engorged with self-doubt.

America is self-conscious; speak of her crudely and with anger she will shout.

 

We are children, who will never be fulfilled.

America is empty; a melting pot without a guild.

 

We are children, sobbing in the silence of a winter’s night.

America is vulnerable; she can’t seem to make things right.

 

We are children, we are never mature …we are never mindful…we are continually melodramatic.  

 

We are children, who roam vast landscapes infested by consumers.

America is compulsive; millennials, generations y and x, hell, even the boomers.

 

We are children, handing over control of our minds.

America is brainwashed; cultivating useless commodities of all different kinds.

 

We are children, deliberately destroying our homes.

America is biohazard; borrowing land, but never paying back her loans.

 

We are children, hunting a fantasy full of pleasure.

America is spendthrift; under the belief, she possesses boundless treasure.

 

We are children acquiring product…after product…after product.

 

We are children, who are fixated on the future.

America is single-minded; believing she exists, to be the world’s suture.

 

We are children, clawing after immortality.

America is naïve; neglecting she’s misplaced her vitality.  

 

We are children, in fear of the end.

America is anxious; realizing it may be too late to mend.

 

We are children, off balance on the ledge.

America is uneven; she’s suppressed the words in her pledge.

 

We are children no longer perceiving hope…no longer perceiving rationale…no longer perceiving brotherhood….no longer one.

 

We are children, dreaming of days of celebration.

America is tired; she is crammed with hesitation.

 

We are children with no more comradery.

America is disenchanted; skeptical of whom she wants to be.

 

We are children with no search party sight.

America is struggling; distressed in her current plight.

 

We are children with no more desire to work together.

America is damaged; her destiny as unpredictable as the weather.

 

We are children, who will never grow up.  

 

 

© 2017 Phillip Francis


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Reviews

no more camaraderie---that is the line i relate to most...because yes, we are compartmentalized so much by the computer...we don't have enough face to face contact anymore...not like we had in the sixties...in ways i have not grown up...because i am still a sixties child...and wishing too often to go back there.

a poignant poem.

j.

Posted 3 Years Ago



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Added on January 30, 2017
Last Updated on January 30, 2017

Author

Phillip Francis
Phillip Francis

MA



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