Volume 1, Number 2 -- September, 1996


by Dean Shutt


the elder ones

You played with cynicism

dabbled in it for pleasure


your spawn

We do not play

cynicism is our religion

We despise you

what choice do we have

The extremist

must hate the moderate

We are your progeny

we have learned

Do not believe

Do not hope

Do not dream

We asked for truth

we received a contemptuos sneer

We asked for heroes

you gave us statues

Was it easy for you

to sell your children to expediency

Now you fear us

you call us apathetic

What could we do

but that which we were taught

You joked

You laughed

You mocked

Yet deep inside

you believed in something

We are you

but a purer breed

We joke

We laugh

We mock

And deep inside us

nothing save contempt

We hold you in contempt

because contempt is all we have

We stare at the world

with cold, grey eyes

At times wishing

for something to believe

But always returning

to the cold, hard quip

We are your children

you treated us as playthings

Now you must deal with us

as adults without remorse


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