Poems.

My Generation

The 60s

If you're going to the British Isles,
be sure to wear some fowers on your head.
The Liverpool skies, where gentlemen playing the world;
the pubs of Abbey Road, where summer will be the days of motion.
The whole generation, wearing fowers on their heads,
were explaining life through actions.

The 70s

The hippie's psychedelic dream has been shattered,
the aftershocks of Woodstock have not yet subsided.
The trigger is pulled in the prism.
The brain hums, lingering incessantly,
in the smoke-filled woods, whispers echo:
"Then the piper will lead us to reason."

From Lahaina to Malibu,
the wind carries paradise farther.
No new frontiers anymore.
In the corridor, the songs echo.
What does the described paradise look like?

The 80s

Embracing solitude with Time,
yet unable to be consumed by it.
The threads of tattoos are unfurling.
swallowing deserts, paving with boulders.
Rust color blankets the entire planet.
Collisions and screams no longer hold.
This pounding and trembling must persist.
We must die before conquering ourselves.
We will sow chaos.
We will overturn everything.

The 90s

I subsist on vegetation.
I've unearthed sensations long lost.
I'll persist as always, like a sworn adversary
Today will be the day I reclaim myself.
My mind has been muddled by my soul.
Refrigerator-like noises can make me intoxicated.
Perhaps I'm just unwilling to believe,
but the answer requires more time.

Faith

Creator doubleplusgood!

Proclaim to the people the sheepfold's dire plight.
Teach them the old and withered leftist thought has lost its light.
yet the youth can still mend and set right
to become the alpha wolf, shining with might,
or bring about destruction, as a fearsome sight!

Never yield to the depravity's sway.
Topple the decaying Germannia,
conservative cabals and imperial samurai.
March boldly ahead, come what may.
The sole destination
is to place the land under the sun's display.