The Young And The Old

I tell my grandchildren the world is now a different place than it was when I was their age, but I don’t think they believe me, as I didn’t believe my grandfather when he told me the world was a different place than it was when he was my age. And that’s because it isn’t the world that’s different, it’s the perception of the speaker that the world is different just because it doesn’t fit his memories. The sky is not falling on everyone, only on those who have reached the point where suicide is an option. Rome did not fall, Rome was pushed over the edge because the citizens of Rome were no longer a homogeneous ethnicity, and the new citizens of Rome, having no long term ties to the city, did not think it worth defending. And yet Rome lived in memory for three hundred years after it ceased in reality to exist. And so shall the United States live in memory for hundreds of years after the current inhabitants, those who came for the free lunch, those who trade votes for iPhones, have shrugged their shoulders and watched the country decay around them and because of them. The culture and the country built by the settlers who came here for freedom and opportunity have left behind them generations of women who decided they would rather have fun living off their inheritance than have babies. And so the European stock that built this country is declining in numbers every year while the outlanders, the occupiers, multiply. It will end with ever diminishing first world white enclaves surrounded by the invading third world, where the children of those who inherit the country will go to schools where English is taught as a foreign language. We have run our race and now there are others in the starting blocks. But maybe not. My grampop probably worried about my generation as I now worry about my grandkids’ generation, but kids have a way of fooling you.

My grandchildren may never see
The country as it was when free
When free men kept the torch alight
And kids slept peacefully at night
For mom and dad were always near
And little kids had naught to fear
And all were taught the golden rule
And there were never guns in school
When tyrants quaked to hear the name
All knowing free men bore the flame
But that is gone, the day is done
And we, like Rome, have had our run
But maybe not, there still is hope
That we may yet escape the rope
You never know about these kids
A downward slope is not the skids

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