Cry of a Nation

in

Frustrated pulses,
Quicken at the thought of escape.
You run, but where to?
All the hope and joy,
Sucked to dryness.
No remnants of the fervour
That once was.

Faces no longer carry
That timeless enchantment.
Instead buried deep and hidden
Lies to the treasure, the apple core.

Sadness lingers
Tears propped ready.
The desires of a generation
Ending in only two paths:
1) Fly and be strange
2) Stay and be dead

Something
Anything
That is the silent cry of a nation