By the corner window <br />he sat <br />eyes glazed over, <br />as a temple of fear, <br />which had often wondered <br />just who, when, and how, <br />he had finally gotten here. <br /> <br />Twice removed from anything resembling affection, <br />Three times the seasons had changed, <br />and his path, <br />as imperfect as implausible <br />had remained in the imagination of a stars reasonings. <br /> <br />For him <br />musings remain a daily observence, <br />a casuality of war and dismal outbursts. <br />He was four times removed from <br />love-lorned lessons <br />and a slow learner <br />he remained <br />at most. <br /> <br />Habitual drug user he'd heard it before, <br />friday, saturday, sunday, <br />his drugs are best. <br />Yet when served in mixed doses, <br />this corner window, <br />is the same <br />as a drug would do. <br /> <br />For life gives lessons <br />to those who will take it <br />and to take is to king <br />as king cannot be wrong. <br />Thought train starlight, <br />I know who I am <br />I'm the product of a generation, <br />taken from kings. <br /> <br /> <br />Copyright (c) David DeSantis<br /><br />David DeSantis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/generation-me/
