death of idealism poems

The music takes me back
Back before the bald
Covered your head
Back before the causes
Were robbed of their optimism
When your songs
Were blowing fresh
In the wind
When you offered hope
An uprising of youth
True believers
Ready to march with you
To confront authority
Committed to a new order
That would arise
From the ashes
Of discord
But injustice survived
Age has spoiled
The appetite
Of your ardent followers
And though
They still mouth the words
The fire is gone
And just the echo
When evil
Still remains