Imagine, a deaf generation.
Where we stand behind broken words.
An inability to hear, To see, to feel, to love.
We stand behind our words, Our words that have no meaning, And we carelessly laugh our lives away.
Sinking deeper into our vices, Until we are eventually swallowed.
Then we sit in the gutters, Griping about what we could have done.
Though it was too late then also.
Back then, we heard the warnings, But would not listen.
Back then we saw the signs, But would not look.
Now, we look up at the elite, Touching their fur with our grubby fingers, Begging for a meal, a drink, love, But they will not listen.
They will not see or feel our presence.
Yet, they do not realize who we are; When they look in mirror, They will see us staring back at them.
But they do not believe, And they walk away, casting us aside.
We are their warnings, But they cannot see that.
They will go along with their lives; Hearing with out listening, Seeing without looking, Saying I love you without feeling.
They will do this until they stand, At the edge of the pit, Looking over the edge, They will see us, their mirror images.
Then, they will be pushed in the gutters, With us, and they will gripe.
The next generation will come, Exactly the same as the one before.
They will stand behind their broken words, As we did with ours.
They will stand in the pit with us, And they will also gripe.
They will ask, Will this pit ever be full? Will we ever learn to listen? The old and wise will answer, The question is rather, Can we listen.
Can we change the future generations, For it is too late for us.
To look, to listen, to feel, After all the years of emptiness.
An accomplishment that would be.
Yet, until that time comes, The pit gets fuller, The world stands in thick silence.
We are their only warning, To make them listen, To make them alive again.
So they stand not behind broken words, But next to love, life and happiness, In a world where they can hear, see and feel.