Boomers

fire in the hands of children,

such a dangerous thing,

for a world

so brittle and dry;

playing with things

they cannot begin to understand,

where reality has been reduced

to the touch of a button,

and all that was,

or ever will be,

can be held

in the palm of a hand;

will it matter

when the time has come?

who was right,

who was wrong,

will it matter

what human emotion

provided the spark?

where will all the heroes be then?

where is the honor and glory?

who will bury the dead

and pick up the pieces?

who’s going to greet the boys

when they come back home?

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