When I get around to it, I may post all my writings, but for now here's one...

When A Child Raises A Village

They seen it
They felt it
They watched it
They lived it
They got it
And knew that
I'm doomed to repeat it

I've lost touch with my bratnicks
Their anger
Their antics
Their screwed up semantics
Does this make me old?

Or cold to the touch
Remembering such
Was the way of my youth
When rebels of truth
Exerting their fruits
Were thriving off fiction
Commercial ambition
Developing skill
Of dialect
Of diction

No statement
No mission
The plan was for self
And those of your peer
And for whom you'd care
And yet without fail
With each passing year
Grew numbers of elders
Who'd watch us in fear

I've seen it
I've felt it
I've watched it
I've lived it
I got it
But after
My time to repeat it

They feared not of strangers
But of whom they reared
Uncommandeered
Unschooled
Unsteered

Priorities not heeded
Are priorities no more
To pilgrims who needed
Conclusions to draw
With conclusions held
Left unmolded to meld
That fear of the fearful
Was produced
Through themselves

I've lost touch with my bratnicks
Their anger
Their antics
Their screwed up semantics
Does this make me afraid?

Perhaps
And yet
My fear is not of them
But the role of my actions
Impacting
Upon them

They see it
They feel it
They watch it
They live it
But still they won't get it
'til their time
To repeat it