My generation, born of the greatest,
coming of age to a dark bells toll.
Idealism, a flower in a gun barrel,
entrusted with the national soul.

My generation deployed to rock and roll
and fought in a jungle at seventeen.
And when it was over, returned to a country
had no idea of what we had seen.

My generation watched as a president
betrayed the trust and was held to account.
We saw the same thing, the truth was apparent.
There’s no other way, the leader was out.


My generation settled into easy living.
Got older and so far from our youth.
Once had a hunger, now got whatever.
We search for the remote, not for the truth.

My generation split like a tree trunk,
bought into charlatans hate filled lies.
Soon it was brother turned against brother.
Common ground lost, goodwill died.

My generation now sickened and sun-blind,
once entrusted with the national soul,
will pass on the flame, turn over the keys,
and fade away, disgraced and old.

Fade away, disgraced and old.




Author: Eric Schuurman

Eat your vegetables.