The Way

The lining is out of sight.
We assume it is the stuff of silver
but at present we have only the hopes of success.
We demand the best from the future and lay no present plans to build it.
Eyes cast about to whom would do the good deed.
Who will spread this good word of tomorrow's promise held?
While the gavel falls slower than the guillotine.
What cares have we
This timing begins to slow and we see our future shot.
The things that our kind deserve will not appear
till years have passed and the now living fail to remain.
So what is our motivation?
To what care should we devote?
As the ship we see off will not return to our blank eyes
and starring into the abyss of our future,
into the bleak of day break,
we make men of mockeries.
The sham grows legs to walk
and forms sounds to talk
and this sham,
with disappointed arms,
waiving what the future deserves.
Before the choice to experience we stand exposed,
it's fruits: a concept understood.
Alone beside decided sickness
somewhere along the line we say
that the future generation will be raised like they are the past.
In doing so we handicap the potential of entire nations
and in our ignorance we retard our growth.
Shame be unto all who fail our future by the burying of progress.