Who are these people who seek salvation
In the promise of my generation?
They say we will be great and glorious
And triumph over all their ancient faults,
But one cold truth remains notorious:
He will know regret who vainly exalts.

Who applauds a coffin, an empty stage?
Who calls butchery the birth-pains of an age?
Anoint us but we are not messiahs,
We will count ourselves blessed to see grey hair.
You crown with laurels none but pariahs
Who have prospered despite your lack of care.
Go ahead, hope we find resolution,
But don’t look in us for absolution.

This entry was posted in Sonnets.

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