Child of the 60's Pushing 50

Decades pass and I'm still writing from youth through middle age and here I am poet yet, filling each blank page. And justifiably 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 trough this primal need the same as breath- I write of life and I write of death. And because I was born to a genearation who mourn, and whose politicians rolled their dice- (Their "game board" was paddies of rice.) And though we remember, " Let freedom ring"... our hopes died with Kennedy and King, and still they unfurl the red, white and blue though there's My Lai, Kent State and 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 that I feel and dare to think - others bleed blood that is real - And I wonder who'll read what I think or feel? * The Muse was obviously having a weird day as I wrote this- the poem sort of wrote itself. I am not completly satisfied with it, andfeel it is harshly opinionated in places and delves into choppy rhyme - but I am stuck and can't revise. Feel free to comment, rewrite etc.