They say we are the future,

I take it and I grin.

They mean well, I know,

but I can’t help the despair seeping in.

Because if they are looking to the future,

the now is of the past.

Eyes glued to the horizon,

where the Earth remains steadfast. 

A world full of hope,

placed in their outstretched hands.

But in doing so, they ignore the fire;

it’s not what they had planned.

And if we are the future,

then we are not the now.

We should just

            wait

                   and wait

                                  and wait. 

                                                  But how?

Should we sit on our hands,

make no sound?

It’ll be our turn eventually,

that’s how the Earth spins around.

Instead, we take to the streets,

march and make our voices heard.

But all of that is undermined,

by a comment as fleeting as a bird.

So when you say we are the future,

I hope it’s a choice you’ll soon regret.

You’ve given up and left us to fix the world,

but when we try, you say “not yet.”