September 11th Epic Poem Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12 (The Cultural Collapse) 
Since we’ve been born we’ve had to learn
            That life is just a taunt.
We never seem to have the means
            To get the things we want.
It seems instead, to get ahead,
            You have to break some trust;
When stripping bare the bonds of care
            You listen to your lusts.
Since you were young this thought has clung
            Like magnets to a ‘fridge,
Enticing you to see the view
            That’s just beyond the ridge.
But if you make this great mistake
            Your world will fall apart,
Producing pain as if a plane
            Has crashed into your heart.
You know by now this inner call
            Is empty at its core.
Experience will leave a sense
            Of always wanting more.
Each sin you do will cause you to
            Commit another one,
Despite the fact each selfish act
            Was really not that fun.
That’s why we try to struggle by
            With doing good as well,
But still repeat each ugly feat
            Our lips will never tell.
We think we should project the good
            Our hands will never do:
So kids who grope for parents’ hope                                       
            Will never have a clue.
And thus we teach our young to reach
            For fruit we’ve never grasped,                  
With hopes that by the time we die
            Our sins will not be passed.
Yet more than not this noble plot
            Will fail in its bid;
Since most will choose to quickly lose,                  
            The way their parents did.
They’ll nod with grins upon their chins
            And claim they understand,
That when the urge begins to surge
            They must restrain their hand.
They’ll say we’re wise with honest eyes
            That gleam like virgin snow,
But with that said they’ll go to bed
            With girls they hardly know.
The truth will burn when first we’ve learned
            What stupid things they’ve done.
But once we’ve wept we must accept
            Our daughters and our sons.                   
And as they age we’ll lose our rage
            And give them room to roam;
Content to trust, that they, like us,
            At last will find a home.
For how can Dad be very mad   
            Who once did lots of pot?
Can it be fair to make them bear
            A load that he could not?
For we, in spite, turned out all right,
            When love began to grow;
So these ones, too, might make it through,
            If we just let them go.
But still we bleed to watch them feed
            With lack of self-control,
The same deceit that help defeat
            The light inside our soul.
Why must they waste with careless haste
            Their lives as if they’re dirt,
When they could use their gift of youth
            To help and not to hurt?
But they will sob it’s not their job
            To live a life that’s charmed.
How dare we claim that they’re to blame,
            If someone else is harmed?
It seems less bad to live a tad
            With pleasure as their guide,   
Once they’ve explained that life restrained
            Is just like suicide.
For they will say no single way
            Is better than the rest.
The golden law in all its awe
            Is really not the best.
They’ll say we’ve built a sense of guilt
            Through artificial wit;
For modern lore cannot ignore
            Survival of the fit.
For Darwin proved that it behooved
            All life to fight and strive,
Since none of those who helped their foes 
            Could flourish and survive.
The modern state invalidates
            The view of days gone by:
That folks should seek to help the weak
            Whom nature chose to die.
We’ll interrupt and shut them up
            Before they dare say more.
And then we’ll act as if the chat
            Has really been a bore.
Our simple pride attempts to hide
            The fact we’re blowing smoke;
The things they’ve said outside their head
            Are really not a joke.
Our kids at last have fully grasped
            The age of self-respect.
When people flaunt ‘the heck they want,
            And no one dares object.
There still exists some moral mist
            To shroud the naked ground,
But those resolved have since evolved
            The ways to get around.
Their search for fun is never done
            ‘Till life begins to halt.
And though they’ve maimed the friends they’ve claimed,               
            It never is their fault.
They search for prey to blast away
            Like walking, talking, bombs;
Their toxic load will help explode                       
            Their sisters, sons, and moms.

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