My Generation

I thought that I might be the first to fall,
But not at all;
I buried them with saplings at their head —
The cold, the dead.
The lonelier I grew, the more I sought
(Yet never caught)
The murmuring of souls upon the wing.
No bell would ring
For those who once had rallied to my side —
To kiss, to chide.
Now I am as you see me, and alone;
An autumn drone
Outside a failing hive of paper vaults.
And yet, our faults
Were less than had we replicated chance —
We danced the dance
Because we never knew the world was flat.
We danced! Say that!
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