We are Lost

We are Lost

There is a feeling in the air, barely recognized.
A feeling of bittersweet retribution
floating from the ground -- from the air
It is tragic, barely remembered, nothing
less than a connection, nothing less than
an undiscovered moment, relapsing
into a popular epiphany. I see the
embittered moments of our youth.
I see the sacrificial lambs of our generation
bouncing prosaically in halls of quiet remembrance.
Why are we so lost in this transgression? Why
are we the ones who can't remember?
Our generation is massed together like clay
Earthen in construction, lost in the moment.
A ghostly transition clumps together, a sullen
moment; when we were kids, you and I were scared.
We felt the pressure of happenstance, a ghost, a death,
a measured moment of time; I still feel that way -- I
feel like something is wrong -- we need to move.
The air is tragic -- let's find a solution to our problem,
to our fear, to the feeling of danger . . .
A telephone call cannot heel our problems.
There is a fear that we will never understand.
Yet we must . . . 

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