Children of the Revolution

Tonight I finally heard the Bono/Moulin Rouge version of Marc Bolan's "Children of the Revolution." As usual, I like the original better, but I listened to this one as I drove past a crime scene near my old house. All the flashing lights of authority, the speeding of my car in the night and the spirit of this song awakened my eternal desires of innocence, freedom and charging against oppression.

The experience inspired me to unearth an old poem of mine. I don't have a time stamp on this poem, but I believe I initially wrote it in seventh or eighth grade. It serves as a prologue to the novel I've been working on since seventh grade. Though unwritten before then and sparsely added to for a few years now, the story is always alive in my mind. So, here's my poetic narrative version of "Children of the Revolution:"

Links of a chain,
jointed with strength and passion,
on the plain
of creation.

Feet firm
locked in the fresh grass.
United shoulders confirm
confidence to surpass.

The bleak eruption
in the heavens above
echoes the corruption
of a land once filled with love.

Clouds converge.
Darkness attains.
Thunders surge.
Battle reigns.

Through the damp and hurling winds of strife,
a crusade for salvation
becomes a fight for life.
Faith is replaced with desperation.

Death.
Annihilation.
Last breath.
Termination.

All is gone.
And, yet, with the rising sun
all is reborn.
Resurrection when the worst is done.

Warmth sheds on the innocent
and denies the criminal.
Grass reeds sing in merriment
a song that is eternal.

Love is no longer torn.
Life returns from execution.
A New World is born.
Thanks to the Children of the Revolution