TheNewSocietyOfPoets

Each one of us is chasing stars, Reaching through the great unknown, Always hoping that, when grown, These sparkling treasures will be ours. So we leap into freezing air, Praying we won't fall back down, For Earth, even in fine spring gown Somehow, for us, does not compare. But fall we do, and oh, how long Is our disgraceful, sharp descent! On this, stars' twinkling laughter's spent, For we, they know, have got it wrong. Our greedy grasp shows no respect; Our purpose, friends, is to REFLECT.

Child of metal, Child of sky Made to falter, made to fly Crude with color mixed and set Made to seek for glory high Child of metal, Child of sky Born to laugh and born to cry Struggling always, winning less Born to sing and born to sigh Child of metal, Child of sky Born to live and born to die Struggling always, ending thus Sinking slowly into dusk. ...Sunken, sure, but not to stay The Child returns the narrow way Made to falter and to fly Child of metal, Child of sky

I had a terrible dream, where mathematics was the norm. Everyone spoke in numbers, and letters had no form. There wasn't much to it, just a dab like oil paint. The world was tipsy turvy, and I was about to faint. Geometry had stolen Time, and clocks all ran in pi. It was a jumble in a Rabbit Hole, and illusion was a lie. Woe to that world of dreams, woe to the word of digits. And yet when I woke up, it is the same world, is it?

I haven't words to mourn this dying world, this world with one foot into the Abyss; This world of hollow people, trying hard to stuff themselves with feeling, rush, and fear, in hopes that they will, somehow, find for cheap the depth of life that costs so much that's dear; This world where words are words and nothing more, not dreams, not truths, not frames for great ideals; This world where blenders of "diversity" churn mixed-up cups of product all the same throughout, without a thought for what they'd gain if each was kept and cherished separately; No, I've no words to mourn this dying world; the words were dead already, first

We're young. We adapt. At least that's what they say. The things around us- they move. We move. We're young. We'll adapt. Cities fade into the night. Country comes with morning. But we're young. We can adapt. And because we're young, we're numb. That's why we love with passion. That's why we cry at air. We're young. We're numb. Faces- they'll blur. People- they'll change. We can adapt. But all the same, it's hard, so very hard, to say goodbye.

I was waiting at a bus stop, the rain was falling hard. It seemed it'd wash the world away. I tried not to notice the man, the one with a coat and beard. He asked, "Any spare change, today?" We all need some change, and I told him that too.h He said, "Sister, I really agree with you." "The world is turning fast, I can't keep track of it's spin," he said. "But folks don't care, we act like we dead." I didn't want him to think me a corpse, so I gave him some change. Pennies all folded up round a President's head. "God Bless," he said when I mounted the bus, I turned back to find the rain still pouring. It seemed it'd wash

and you can hold my breath for me while i try to hold your heart. forgive me if i damage it, i'm not the best with delicacy. and we can just build castles in the air we'll steal the silver lining from all the seasons clouds, we can wear them just like nooses around our necks. because this feels like we killed the star shooters with their own guns and stole the magic from the sky. because this feels like i filled all six barrels in our game of russian roulette and made sure you went first.

No, I didn't read it... because it just points here and there; never, at you. So today I wiped that stupid grin off my face and struck my tin cup venomously across the bars and breathed a kibosh into that airborne rust I let take flight to the sound of the irritating racket. Forget getting out on good behaviour... this prison is abandoned and hell hath no fury, like a spurned Charlie... and the wraith hath no shriek to compare. I shall vomit again my own vomit through the cement and my cursed silhouette shall once again find itself in the periphery of your perception as you drive past darkened city corners...

Oh City. You're beautifully ruined at the hands of man. Your people walk aimlessly they are specters of now. Fog pours from manholes hiding the cracks of pavement. Sirens echo through the street's tired war zone of today. Oh City.

We're the electric generation, We're the shock, the nation needed. We're the cause of the downfall, The reason for living, We're the wave of electricty, Passing across your heart, Causing every beat, and Pulse through your veins. We're the lights in the streets, On a cold winter night, illuminating flakes of snow We're the neon glow, From nightclubs and bars, filled with sweat, alcohol And tears, We're the shock From the defibrillator Keeping you alive. We were the music in the dive, Where you chose to die. We are the electric generation. We chose to lie.