A Generation After X Poem by Max McGovern

Silenced by the shattered hopes
Of revolution started by our parents
A generation after X, gallops forth
White knight-like, with insecure armor.
Computers are rarely wrong,
Rendering bodies largely indivisible
Unfactorable, invertebrate masses
Left behind like luggage in the motel
Mentality of mind decay.
Spirit people again inhabit the earth,
Armed with evolution and sufficiently
Prepared to assume higher roles
Or achieve higher planes of existence.
Instincts of radicalism
Purvey ongoing teenage conversations
Across the world.
The flag of all nations burns
Cursed for and cursed at
In the drunken drugged mob-dance
Lit and sustained by the fear
Instilled child lifetimes ago.

Psychopharmacology left the hands
Of those who knew it to be sacred.
Turned now, vile and besmirched,
Just as bills
Clutched and recounted by the fingering
shrewd captains of industry.
Attention is pressed and grabbed at an all time high.
At every possible moment
And every possible way.
Prolific developments in the art of propaganda
wash away your self-fashioned ideas
Of perception and individuality.
Strengthening malicious egoic tendencies
For war and glory, for us over them,
For the easy satisfaction of staying
In an interminable state of conflict with the world.

It is high time we observed the earth
Like we did our mother as children.
Counting the scars to understand our interactions
as mutually dependent upon reclaiming what
dignity or time we can for our descendants.

The entire toxic arsenal of detergent in the world
Could not launder this much dirty money
Have you ever seen a four-eyed fish?
Have you heard a reef sigh in resignation
As its life is swept away in tidal waves.
Islands disappear daily,
Indeed a natural progression
Of thousand year atmospheric cycles.
Soon the spectacular array of life
On Green mother will shrivel away,
Extinct for lack of the breast milk
Energy that dwells just below oils wells.

The drills tempt a most tempestuous rebuttal
From the underground things, we fear
But of which we know no things.
Elemental beings wait
Poised with knives in hidden in spots
Unfathomed by the human depths.

The strike will be fast, and certainly lethal, but
Blood will not stain the surface;
rather million mile stretches of white.
Civilization frozen over once again
To assure that falsely held beliefs in
Techno-gods are erased and discredited.

Humanity is touching again.
Eye contact is expected,
Expressive and emotional.
There exists another chance
At creating a history
Man can pride itself upon.
Organic machines work
In harmony humming
Along with the running
Of melting glacial rivers.
Slowly as the caps
Recede and allow
Acceptable living conditions
Atlantis is discovered,
Magical religions are reborn
Manifesting gracious love-filled living
Forests grow thick
And impenetrable again overnight
Giving birth to the new versions
Of snakes, owls, and foxes
Directly from the bark flesh.
Forests that talk in comprehensible voices,
Entrusted with blueprints for eternity
By the blessed mother earth.
Time is abandoned, words
Archaic and obsolete.
And the new world’s first child
Shakes the forest to tears
By asking in thought,
“May I please pick this flower? ”
So polite. Such consideration.
Sobbing with happiness,
“Yes child, pick your brother up
Run wild in my meadows and play.
You have been chosen,
Now show them the way.”