Collection: "Meeting With Aliens"; Photo: "Oracle Of Light"Copyright © Paolo Campisi, Sicilian Family Productions,
All Rights Reserved
Unstoned & The Flower Children
For the children of America
who have turned to flowers
in the streets of Vietnam and Islam
Unstoned;
A child of the flowers,
Inspired;
By a movement of peace,
protests children of
antiwar demonstrations,
just a child
on independence avenue
marching from the art museum.
Philadelphia;
Vietnam;
And the sons of liberty were put do death
so the sons of prosperity could have their day.
Where have they all gone?
When will they ever learn?
Unstoned;
Flower children
now sons of perdition.
Their movement of peace
exchanged for a thirst for power,
liquidating America.
One child remembers
the day of protest
for the blood of the unstoned;
The dead of the day of love and pace,
the time when the wicked were flower children.
And the sons of liberty are dying
In the streets of Islam,
And the house of the unstoned is full of tears.
The flowers of the flower children are bleeding
green ink and blue blood.
I will go to the art museum
and walk alone,
and weep.
On the streets of the city of brotherly love,
Philadelphia,
I will walk the road of protest.
The road that was walked by thousands of liberties children,
the unstoned.
Missing faces of the flower children,
I will remember the day we stood up
and were counted in the face of the industrial generation,
those who executed JFK,
the sickles and hammers of LBJ,
the grim reapers of the sixties and seventies,
putting the sons of America to death for currency.
I will walk the steps of the art museum through the streets
of Philadelphia for the children of the millennium.
I see their blood on the canvas of Islam.
The strokes of the artiest,
the unstoned,
the liquidation generation.
The children of love that have turned to stone,
the once stoned,
the unstoned.
Hearts of stone
greed
and hypocrisy,
bleeding the nation,
bleeding the children,
bleeding freedom,
blood black, green blood for blue blood.
The blood of America turned black to oil,
The blood of young men running green to greed,
it is running through the streets of America
from the homes of the people,
running down the steps of the art museum
down the streets of the City of Brotherly Love,
calling out the names of a slaughtered generation
calling out the names of a dying generation,
calling out the names of those who walked in protest
those who's hearts have turned to stone,
running down the steps of the state department.
When will they ever learn?
Where have all the blue blooded boys of the millennium gone?
Gone to serve,
gone to serve the earth,
gone .
And the flowers are already growing
over the dead we sow.
The unstoned lay the stones,
the grave stones
over this generation.
These dead children
they are the new flower children
watered by the tears of those who remember love,
your tears and my tears.
I will walk the road of protest again.
Walk it alone,
to remember
to protest,
to stand up for love and peace,
to see an end of the rein of the unstoned.
To every thing there is a season.
When will they ever learn?
Paul Li Campise
