Generation Whichever
January 5, 2009
We got stuck in the tease of the crevice of your palms
When you did so rudely clap
You wore the crown of a khanki in khaki
And your fire was not one to be tapped.
Your coffin was never our mourning glory
Nor a marker of ravaging savagery
Crows refused the breadcrumbs you laid out
Your toes were twisted…without a doubt
And your silhouette flung across a spout
Your ears deaf to your own mumbles
All men wanted, was you in crumbles.
No night was as fateful as you had wished
No day as glorious as praise
No dawn will ever be of a musky squirt
No dusk sharp enough for your voice to be raised.
That night you had scorned with a squeamish smirk
Our comrades out on a stroll
The frolics of our merry martyrs
Admittedly, never quite raised the polls.
That night we had counted from 1 to 10
That night we had sworn off perjury
That night we lost many good men
That night of assumed debauchery.
Just passing by.Btw, you website have great content!
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Don’t pay for your electricity any longer…
Instead, the power company will pay YOU!
Really cool man!
If you are talking about my generation your poem is right – but Generations are becoming blurred now