YouthYou are the breathof dandelion seeds.An explosion of fresh fuzzinessand abundant zeal,unanchoredby the laborsof this life.

I am the messenger. And I will prick their conscience.

I witness the crimson siegesstarted by overlords in gas maskswhich cause chaos clouds to formover the living to steal their liberty

Come with me to this backroom of greybehind a fortress of blood and steel,where girls who would be mothers,are carted away, codeine eyed,to quest the Holy Grail on alien soilby women who should be mothers to them.

I walk alone, sharing company with the winds, at peace with the elements.

You seldom beg when you walk the streets,immune to the music blearing from record shops and cheap MP3 players.