Children born in trenches.

1. Children born in trenches : This the age of decadence and dismay, Where chocolate rain pours down upon plastic terrain, Where tin-shanties hold cookie-cut-cardboard dreams And the air is slumped over the shoulders of the-mannequins, who dressed by the blind, still look like shit. 2. Snapshots from my Ivory Swan. Children whistle into cracked - windows, The wind whips and wanders into their wet eyes, Whilst their dreams waltz wistfully into the barren night sky. (sorry I should have broken these two stanzas into two poems as the first of the pieces is best read in isolation and the second should be the introduction for another piece of the same name. Oh and they are still works in progress, feel free to tell me to stop right now lest I make a fool of myself. I feel far more relaxed in my writing lately after being reassured that both my tone and my perspective aren't in a vacuum and that others' namely Palahniuk, Eggers and to some extent Easton Ellis are fond of wayward thoughts and psycho - babble so I shall be extending this piece as I see fit and when I see fit. The first half, children born in trenches is complete in my mind's eye as it should be the intro verse for the scenario i'm to create and furthermore sets up the locale of the poem which I wrote / thought about whilst on a business trip high above cape towns townships about to land at the air port.