The Silent Generation

In a world where everyone walks on eggshells-

An exhausting dance, I warn you-

Where the law does not prevent us from speaking

But in fact our own society does,

In a world where offense is so easily taken

Because every eye is turned inwardly on Self

And fixed there, refusing to see beyond-

Where does the writer fit in a world such as this?

When the written word was always meant to be

Thoughts and stories and ideas

And the beautiful mess we call humanity

Expressing freely and without reserve

The things we know not how to speak aloud

How can the raw honesty of fiction

Or the solidarity of truth spoken well

Or the spilling of the real stuff of life

Continue in such a place as this?

Will we not either conform,

Dance this dance on eggshells,

And let our words deteriorate into hollow lifeless chatter...

Or refuse to be told what we are allowed to say,

What story we are allowed to tell?

The decision is to each his own,

But as for me

I will not be silenced.