The world is not mine
Where men try to control the wasteland
The wasteland colored in green and armored by iron
The landfill becomes a prize
Covered in the tears of the tomorrow ahead

We invest for this better tomorrow
Yet, we are still all left in sorrow
Simple green papers traded everyday
Hand to hand, grin to grin
Expecting mine to be displayed

Soldiers sold to the thoughts of glory
We will win! These armies cry
As bloodstains hit the sand, they have died
I still can’t solve the mystery
As to why there are no victories

You forget we hide in bright screens
Sold for entertainment, but it rests in my hands like a weapon
A weapon that stabs through those who are not helped by those who can
I am the future, I cry
But there are some days I want to die

But how could I, when I’ve been resting warm in my bed
With a picture of God over my head
Never knowing some children weren’t resting by 9 o’clock
That childish whims were the least of concern
That teachings meant nothing unless they wanted them to

Where are you, thinking he would not hear their cries
But had they even tried to open their eyes?
To see we can fix creations made with no thought!
To see the power held within our broken lives!
Struggles to help our struggling mankind

Help the flawed system that spins and rolls to knock down others
That sentences a human being to death, before their natural last breath
Where promises of change sure to come are scratched before the job is done
We let other minds reach out to become our own
We weave their thoughts through our skin until they’re sewn

We start wearing these stitchings like clothes
Flaws I can see all on my own
Insecurity that pounds and pounds until succumbed to
Fear that walks like shadows wherever we go
Where bullets fly, but some say they didn’t know

I am the future, I cry
When will we all finally try?
To lend a hand to our own
And let our eyes gleam in pure goodness
And let our hearts beat for not just ourselves

Humans are our people
Some living in the rain, with only a piece of cloth as a way of protection
Some living near the weeping sounds of sadness, but never moving a muscle
But some are living up to the word in our name

Humane

I am the future, I cry
So let’s finally try
For we are the future

 

 

 

Alyssa Jett Chaney is 15 years old and has been writing lyrics, poems, and stories since the age of 11. She enjoys expressing herself by singing in a band and writing her points of view of her world.