Original Poetry Fan Fiction ❯ Future generation ❯ Future Generation ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Bitterness
PLEASE give me any feedback you deem necessary, okay? It doesn't have to be nice, I just need to know what people honestly thin kso I might improve--I do like writing and have the want to meet people's wants and needs.

...Read and review?

Miscellaneous: Original Poetry Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Horror / Psychological | Type: Poetry | Uploaded On: 10.18.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 2.2K | Visits: 471 | Status: Completed

Delicate words that slip off the tongue with ease
“You are the future: shape up, mature, and for Pride's sake, get rid of that piercing—please”
They claim we are the most important thing
They talk about the “wonders” we'll bring
 
They talk about the will be, they forget about the now
They don't care about the why, it's all about the how
They could not care less about our lives and what we go through
It's all about the people we know—we have to know that person
That when mentioned others don't give us a look and murmur, “Who?”
 
If we go through hell and show the scars
The throw us aside, like an old-broken down car
They may not know what we must hide
They may not see or understand
The rules that those twisted folk make us abide
 
They will not understand—
They simply cannot
It's not about wanting to, though
It's simply that we would surely be even more so mocked
 
These rules are survival—
They are our key
They keep us alive—
They keep our soul what we call “free”
 
This world uses us
Then casts us aside
Why should we care so much?
When we would be cast aside if we make a fuss?
 
“They are our future, they are our hope”
The words are carved in our minds day after day
Elderly asking “Don't you know that our future depends on you?”
And the simple reply that burns to be released is swallowed—nope
 
If you don't care about us then,
And you don't care about us now
How do we know the youth is safe inside the world that doesn't care?
How do we know we are safe with the ones we call friend?
 
Say she gets hit—she's made broken to bleed
So she turns to her “saviors”
And they throw her away and ignore her plead
She is young
She does not know their rules
She just knows hers—
The ones in which those pigs are labeled the other word for “mules”
 
So then he steps forward
To tell of his Hellish Fate
The scoff and the laugh—
Filling him with contempt and hate
 
They have learned the meaning of adulthood
They have learned how their elders respond
They are ignored; and they are seriously misunderstood
 
As Fates would play,
A few days later, she was found broken and bleeding
With a note that was smudged with her tears and full of nothing but pleading
It had nothing much on it, just a word of thanks
She had learned of their rules—
And it was nothing more than what might be called immature pranks
 
And just like her, he did not end well
Those demons from that Hell of his appeared by night
And he was found in the morning—
He was dead despite his futile efforts of flight
 
Another girl came to them for help—
Went to the beasts
She kneeled before them, prayed, pleaded, confessed
What she had not even to her priests
 
Another stepped forward, begging for help
There were bills to be paid—
But they were not to be paid in the normal way
Yet the girl absolutely refused to be laid
 
They were turned away,
Just as were the rest
They had swallowed their pride to confess;
Had tried to hide their shame and tears
But they should have guessed that nothing would change for many more years
 
Until they were the generation, they had no “voice”
Until they replaced the heartless ones there now,
In any matter at had, they went with the answer that was forced upon them—
They had no choice
 
And when the time came
When they were finally leading their people and home—
They had money, power, riches and some even fame—
The looked back to the day when they were ignored
They looked back and they scorned
They were in the places of those who had sent them away
The old burning anger in their hearts came back, saying they had to pay
 
But it was then that a girl came meekly up to them,
With tears in her eyes
She had come with a plea:
Her father was a drunkard and he needed to be stopped before a family member dies
 
They immediately taunted her and sharply sent her away
It was their time of retribution—time to make the ones who hurt them pay
So she left them then, with eyes downcast
They did not help her then, they were too clingy to their past
 
It was later the next night as she lay curled under her blanket in a ball
That she heard her mother's agonizing scream, the bam! and her fall
The girl closed her eyes in a futile attempt
To lock out the sounds of her mother's cries, the ones that were feeble and weak
As the room was painted pink and the sky a light shade, a girl sat by her broken mother—
Sat there and wept
 
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Honestly… No idea how this popped out… *blinks* Review please? This is the first poem I'm posting.
 
Erm—if you weren't sure what I was trying to say through my corny rhyming, the… please tell me… ^^;; And, yes, I was listening to “Youth of the Nation” ( a song by POD) a few seconds ago… That inspired this whacked-out piece.
 
Any type of criticism would be greatly appreciated!