Opus

Insurrection

I am from a generation lost in space.
We heard of a home among the trees
and thought we could make it ours.

But we couldn't.
We lost our music in the city
and robed ourselves in ambiguity,
in words and fall colours
that spelled out melancholy
in grey letters on our skins,
branding ourselves for
a war against the world.
We are a bruised generation
of rebels and cynics and nihilists
with deliberate obscurity consuming our souls.
We are the children of the city.
For all the dreams and grenades we carry in our
back-pockets,
we are all waiting for a bullet to hit us in the back.

Water-hyacinths will always spell Revolution for us.