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Lost Generations

submitted by prototype to whatever 10 hoursApr 30, 2025 22:09:50 ago (+2/-1)     (whatever)

Hold my hand ever so close
Hold my hand my dear
And remember who I once was
As I slowly disappear.

Hold my hand my dear
And remember not to fear
We who were once and now no more
All slowly disappeared.

Like the sunset which is fading
Like the joy mingled with your tears
Slowly, softly over these colorless days
unnumbered with the years.

Everyone says in parting
Wait, I'll find you again someday
But I have no more strength
To give to a weary world
Whose colors have all turned grey.

What for life are we building
To watch it all fade away
And in the parting like the fading flame
Greet the darkness of our final day.

Weary world this parting
Where merriment is no more
Cold comfort in the longing for
To have the things that make life worth clinging
so long in striving, we greet deaths door.

Travelers on a journey
With dirty feet no more.
On the earth we tread
To find our meager place
The earth upon us tread
And all around entomb
Life is the process of becoming dead.

All generations are lost
if lost generations there ever were
Nothing generations will hold in the hands, or in their heads
Robbed of everything that makes man a man
Except their daily bread.



5 comments block


[ - ] jfroybees 1 point 6 hoursMay 1, 2025 01:46:50 ago (+1/-0)

He has a "my dear." Something a lot of people near the end do not.

My favorite portion is "All generations are lost if lost generations there ever were."

Is this an original? Reminescent of "Growing Old" by M. Arnold It feels great to not be in the grip of morbidity. It's noble to use art to exorcise its grasp.

[ - ] prototype [op] 1 point 5 hoursMay 1, 2025 02:57:35 ago (+1/-0)

Is this an original?

As always, yes.

My favorite portion is "All generations are lost if lost generations there ever were."

Thank you. I was thinking of that quote I'd heard once, that when we die, it is like the whole world dies too, because the end of all we know.

Reminiscent of "Growing Old" by M. Arnold

I just read Growing Old. Thank you so much for directing me to it. It's beautiful. Having read it my shits a pale shadow to Arnold's. I'd never heard of him before now.



[ - ] jfroybees 0 points 5 hoursMay 1, 2025 03:14:10 ago (+0/-0)

Arnold wrote a much more complicated poem while his bride still lived called The Buried Life. The beginning of your poem echoes exactly the first lines of his work. Growing old is much nicer when you have a "hand to clasp in mine."

proto, it is very hard getting to the heart of matters, but be ever mindful that even though The Truth comes then flits away, it is still alright to enjoy the beauty, the journey to an end that is not a known certainty. For you, there may well be a happy man looking back with fondness at the fullness of a life. Yes, we know that we will die, but it is not a foregone conclusion that all we have accomplished means nothing. Look up sometimes and a be a witness to life. I promise, when we die, the whole world won't. Whether or not you believe that man also has a spirit/soul, I don't know, but would you be in search of Truth if we were without one?

[ - ] Cantaloupe 1 point 7 hoursMay 1, 2025 00:29:36 ago (+1/-0)

Poignant

[ - ] prototype [op] 0 points 5 hoursMay 1, 2025 02:58:48 ago (+0/-0)

Poignant

Out of the blue, like most prose.