Convulsion

It’s that filial agreement,
Tired since I was born.
And each new age brought new age fables,
Tales of forgotten scorn.
Yet memorize,
And synthesize,
These ideas my new born.

So you shoot like flames from mother’s stomach,
Bloody and upset.
You find yourself amongst a crowd,
But you haven’t found yourself yet.

Its winter, noon then lost again,
This paradox is cold,
Your lineage is new my friend,
Your ideas come from old.
And learn and toil and convolute,
Your conscience once again.
Because what you see and hear today,
Was never new my friend.