Generation

by Michael Merriweather

When I look at us
the people that I have known
the writers and the artists
I see a generation
I see the seed
and it blossoms into the bud of a thousand faces
I see a generation
I see the minds
as they break from New Jerusalem into diaspora
I see a generation
I see their destines lived out
as they grow up into life and down into death
I see a generation
I see a new generation of drunken angels
of bastard saints, of God’s madmen
of American heroes, of terminal con men
I see a new generation of academic prostitutes
of lonely lovers, of orphaned virtuosos
of committed knights, of valiant sinners
I see a new generation of illiterate prophets
of kaleidoscope philosophers, of immortal ghosts
of hermit sages, of semantic preachers
I see a new generation of blind patriots
of cynical hypocrites, of poor fortunetellers
of dying clowns, of good, good people, doing good and speaking good
and being good and good, good, good
When I look at us
waiting for a minute to come
writing for a minute gone
I see a generation
I see the birth of creation
and it is in the eyes of every face
I see a generation
I see the face of God
and it is in the face of every eye
I see a generation
I see an outbreak circling the world and the face of the world is changing
I see a new generation of vigilant watchmen
of drowning zealots, of unemployed salesman
of inspired invalids, of washed over faces in corporate purgatory
Wandering all day, wondering, what, what, what went wrong?
I see a new generation
of mystical Veterans, of heterosexual homosexuals
of crippled athletes, of disfigured cinderellas
of devout atheists, crying existence, non existence, truth, lie,
resurrection, death, I believe in the goodness of God, I believe in
the goodness of dogs
the people that I have known
the writers and the artists
who write and make pictures in the air
whom the winds would carry to greatness
who sing the music of the soul
whom shopkeepers would afford no instruments
who carry the cross shaped key
where others before had born a lock
and let loose
the winds to carry us as they may
that our seed might take root
I have seen the seed of a new generation
I have seen the seed
and I weep that I might suffer it to grow
I weep for an unborn generation
I weep for an invisible dream
and I weep for myself
I see a generation
I see a generation that cannot see itself
and it only sees itself
I see a generation
I see only myself
and I don’t look back anymore
I see a generation
I see oldmen in love with the past and young men in love with the future
and women who love each other
I see a new generation of third world doctors
of broken repairmen, of starving waitresses
of incompatible engineers, of outdated replacements looking for a
place to rest, to steal a little time, to steal a glance back into the past
and ask, where has everyone gone?
We are here
We are now
in the scenes of today
in the memories of tomorrow
I have seen the seed of a new generation
I have seen the seed – and I have seen it
in the street, on the corner of Woodward and Warren
in the back of a cafe
in a field, behaving as the wind behaves
and I have seen it dead
the people that I have known
the writers and the artists
they are all dead
dead to a world that would not know them
because we are the world and we refuse to know ourselves
because we are the world and we refuse to be our own generation
no compliance, but rebellion
no surrender and no retreat
only victory in the sound of the youngest voice that would dare
to be itself and be together
When I look at us I see a new generation
and we grow old and tired together
and we grow old and die together
a generation