Child of the 60's

Decades pass and I'm still writing from youth through middle age and here I am, poet yet- filling each blank page. And justifyibly you ask me "Why?" The reason for what I do, here then, is my reply "To proclaim all that's true..." In the same spirit as a bird takes flight- with a primal need thus, I write and through this primal need the same as breath, I write of life I write of death. And because I was born to a generation who mourn, whose politicians rolled their dice (the "game board" was padddies of rice.) And though we remember, "Let Freedom Ring" our hopes died with Kennedy and King still, they unfurl the red, white and blue though there's My Lai, Kent State Watergate too... And what of our parents' and grandparents' "American Dream?" - For us, it's but a nightmare's scream. So here we are the daughters and sons, our primer and lullaby the sound of guns... While as a writer I but bleed my ink into all I feel and dare to think while others bleed blood that is real- I wonder who'll read what I think or feel?