In the Seventies
I wore popular shin high white boots,
The top in rage of disco dancing queens.
The Bee Gees were the utmost in the clan
The alter of quantifying demeans.
Revolutionary, the stance we took,
The freedom of iconoclastic paths
To justify rebellious avenues
That swayed the truth in plain objective wraths.
Our music was the strength we built upon.
To satiate an inward longing for
An understanding from our wings of youth
To dwell upon that which we needed more;
Our voices to be heard above the din
Of righteous antiquated old ideals
To sway the right of multi-media
Into the light of deference that’s real.
To end the Viet Nam war was a quest
Of Yuppies and of Hippies, both agreed,
A war of no beginnings or endings
Should dissolve hate for races to succeed.
A bracelet worn to honor POW's
Those lost in war whose bodies never found,
Embraced the sorrows that remain today
Of those lost souls sore buried in the ground.
The seventies are burnt upon my mind.
In vivid dreams of nonconformist ways.
I dwell upon the heroes giving grace
To rectify the military maze.
3-1-18
I absolutely could not pare this down to the required
20 lines for the contest, so it cannot be an entry.
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2018
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