Raise Our Cups To Our Colorful Ablaze

Raise the banner of a new day, the dawn creates a rainbow of hallowing clouds. It is my generation, a flurry of sunset's and galaxies, forming bright colors, depleting the atmosphere.

My generation is not a person, but an actual fixation. An addiction, only cured by wordly envies, a poison ravaging the already alive system. My people are zombies, manipulated and controlled by the vast knowledge, of everything we want to discover.

"I-gen". A generation that separates the millennial frame, from the tech relying future. We are called i-gen, because of our presence in the internet. We are fueled by posts, likes and captions, the colorful place we love so much, where we feel we belong.

My people, are the people of the future, no distinction of race, ethnicity or color. We are the proud generation who cried equality, where almost half of us is part of the LGBT. Colorful, that's the best way to describe us, an explosion of many ideas, and experiences, all shared through the internet.

In a vast highway, we all drive, we are connected in all corners, but we are disconnected to our borders. This is the generation, where instead of calling family and friends, we opt to find only the newest trends, wether it be a malicious scandal, or a reputation wrecker. We thirst for intrigue, but we lack responsibility.

We as a generation, are killing our way through the internet. With the use of WiFi, we forget our who's. Who is our culture, who is our family, who is our freedom and who is our limits. There is no cure for my generation, because the cure came with the plague, we came with smartphones, and we can leave them as we can.

The cure is within us, if we fight the urge to text, or post, maybe we can also let go of our poison. Or maybe we can adopt, use the technology wisely, and campaign for a better tomorrow. Maybe, if we try, then we can. We'll use the internet for the sake of development.

We are a generation of many to celebrate, and as we raise our cups to our colorful ablaze, let us not burn through tomorrow's oil.

Trove Of Discovery

What if we tore each page - letter by letter - making it worthless and obscene. What if we don't need to destroy the pages, to burn it's worth.

Wouldn't it be worthwhile, to freely surpass any plane in the sky, and dive under the deepest trenches. Would it be so worthwhile, if everything we ever did, was only to be seen worthless; Yes, worthless, in fact it has no purpose at all. 

A book is a trove of discovery, each gleaming page is a place of breathtaking scenery. Painting what the writer sees, in the eyes of his audience. He connects the rainbow, with the golden pot in the end. 

Yet what if we never knew, what we've never known. That us, as a generation can't stand on it's own. That we are loosing the way the past has learned, and making it seem like we are all know-it-alls. 

We take for granted, the knowledge burned through a piece of paper. A cry, we would never yearn, or even just learn to know. We aren't destroying the book, but we destroy it's soul- to be read by many, and to be heard by all.

How can we?- A generation so smart, advanced and intelligent, be dumb enough to be dumbfounded?- It lies in our non-chalant ways, in our lack of empathy thereof. A distant disconnect, to the delirium we call the unknown.

We act as if we know everything, but when we sit and read, we listen; we listen to the words of knowledge, of growth, and of understanding. When we read, we become trees, ready to spread the paper, and create our own books. Chapter by chapter, we fill in the pages. We bruise the paper, by the ink of the pen. 

Knowledge begets knowledge, a wanderlust discovery, trapped in the four corners of a book. Let's burn the pages, but burn them through our minds.