We are the children of the lost generation,
throwing away our plastic guns
for the cold fascination
of blue steel and gas containers.
Just as the knights of yore,
we searched for the holy grail,
travelling to distant shores
dressed in the armour of innocence.
In the first days, our naivety
hid behind the walls of disbelief.
she was then ruthlessly murdered
In the glow of napalm and agent orange
We never found the cup of hope
Only the box of Pandora.
which we still hold under lock and key
fearing the reflections in the mirror.
At night now so many years later,
It sometimes bursts open
revealing its contents of worms.
alive and always ready to feed.