A letter for change

I read something recently that said

children no longer learn the world

from two familiar sources.

News at our fingertips from broadcasts, movies, and tv.

We learn from others wiser but not older,

living outside the picket fence as an upholder for what they defend to be true.

Straying and transgressing.

While parents are no longer the glue

of a young child imagination,

a kingdom made of rubber, plastic, and elation.

This is wonderful news, I believe, of a united nation.

But today kids are no longer kids.

Not with the tragedy of the commonality.

War, injustice, violence, and carnality causing causalities.

Everyday requires empathy.

Children are voices protesting that which elders refuse to see.

Parents only want what is best for their children, it is true, in most cases.

They want imagination to run wild and free

and laughter to fill round the trees

in their yards and fields.

No longer are the days

a shield can conceal from our vision,

the world ablaze in our decision.

Crimson and scarlet.

A renunciation of past indifference.

For a child knows more from what it sees on tv.

Static takes hold, and

Red, yellow, and blue plees cannot be heard,

not when the world of possibilities has opened for

saffron, chiffon, and alabaster to blur our palettes and make way for resets.

A world anew.

We kids will be the future

but today we are the present that matters most.

Our say is definite and unbounded.

No one can take that away

nor silence our quiet yelling, waiting,

for these whispers to reach the great halls of politicians,

them and their misguided mission for greed.

Whose misuse are just an excuse

to divert our attention from affliction and crucifixion.

Our time is now to rise and grieve.

Grieve for every mal injustice and encroachment.

Waiting for the day that we no longer see and be

the lesser authority,

the minority within the majority.

Why can’t our parents see that the world was no place to belittle and try playing scotch free.

It is our right to fight no matter what degree.

I hope one day no longer like today

where no matter what a bourgeoises word for need

impedes the end of selfish disagrees.

If the medium is the message,

like Marshall McLuhan said,

than head my message

and display it on every medium for all to see.

Don’t overlook my voice just because I am young

among restless tongues.

I am a child of a generation of needs

not fulfilled, who cannot promise what tomorrow will bring.

If I am a fool

then let me continue my foolishness

because the world is my kingdom,

an explosion of colors,

and we are all ants crawling up that great, big hill.

My voice is being drawn out

in my perspective of world peace

for every moment is precious.

We’re running out of time

and the control tower is begrimed.

The last segment of newscast is on in an hour

and I’m afraid I’ll miss it due to not having enough power.

But I’m more afraid that one day

my voice will be hoarse, dull, dry, and gray

wake up to be too tired for a care

swayed in a world that is in so disrepair.

My prayer should reach someone

for it should not be me who should bear these unfortunate maladies and despairs.

These thoughts of impurity,

this doubtful nature of man,

let it remain in my nightmares,

unaware.

Today I’ll stand hitherto

for the priority of the security of the children

who will come after me and proclaim

the world is still a kingdom to be played.

No matter what sort of brutality will still be shown on tv

from forth these rotten politicians’ ambition and munition,

whose misdeeds await bottomless perdition.

I think my parents would be proud

that I’ve forsaken my youth to be part of the crowd,

crying out load against a war that breeds war.

Spearheaded coalition of resistance

young that adores

a united and secure intention for a cure.

Oath hereby declared and swore.