Shadows dance on paths, littered
with the refuse of a forgotten generation.
Laughter�dying as jokes, retold, lose
their humour.
What vicious games they play,
preying on the weak�exploiting
any advantage.
Walking on the back of another as easily
as if it were a garden path.
A generation�without a conscience,
a generation that is barely conscious�.
Waiting for a wake-up call�but it never comes.
You have to want to change �
no one will do it for you �
no one wants to.
The Shadows dance on the cracked
walls of deserted houses�vacated
by the cold of heart and visionless
soldiers and Generals of unending wars.
The Shadows dance upon their graves,
leaving a reminder:
mistakes not remembered
are doomed
to be
repeated �.
� 2006 by Peter Amsel
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