Generation Lost

Steve Pearson Poetry

My greatest despairs,
In a time of who-cares,
Are for the anguished cries of the young.
Their futures dismantled,
Displaced and mishandled,
Unwanted, unwelcome and unsung.
The cold generation
Of an uncaring nation,
Left to waste at the feet of the beast.
Austerity’s excretion.
The futures we shun.
A famine at the foot of our feast.
Who cares really
For generation-nearly,
As long as we’re all growing our own?
Usher them away
To basement-UK,
Then forget them: generation-millstone.

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