My Generation
by Ethan McGuire
This is me, my generation.
This is me, taking a stand.
Yet toward what goal, I ask,
will I fight until the end?
Everything I know is real,
does it depend on my perception?
What if I cannot own my mirror image?
What if I could not talk or breathe?
People tell me, “You can’t really know a thing,”
but then, I ask them, “How can I trust any voice?”
This is me, my generation.
Babel’s towers falling down,
statues turn to dust in sand,
pyramids rise to the clouds,
but “Why?” is all that comes to mind.
Lovers, they tell me, let your heart decide,
but is it love or lust if I love only to get high?
This is me, my generation.
Buddha’s figure in a mill,
minds dividing on Olympus,
three crosses carved, I lose my thought.
A stranger breathes life after death.
I need someone, if just to lend me eyes.
My God, help me, my day is a twilight eve.
I need someone to show me the way,
someone to lead me out of this sunless afternoon.
I need someone, if just to lend me sight.
Someone, please, help me, my days drift into the ocean.
This is me; this is my generation.
This is me, and I know we must take a stand.
Yet toward what goal will we fight until the end?
This is us, so join our mass. This is me, my generation.
About the author
By day, Ethan McGuire is a healthcare information technology professional. By night, he is a writer, whose writing has been published by Three Rows Back, The Dark Sire Literary Magazine, Better Than Starbucks Poetry Magazine, Vita Brevis Press, Foundling House, and others. He also writes poetry at TheFlummoxed.com. Ethan currently lives in the Florida Panhandle with his wife and their dog and cat, and he is a proud member of the West Florida Literary Federation.
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