poisoned fountain

parents sit and wonder,
why the streams are bitter,
why the taste of life
burns on their tongues,
why their children
spit venom and rage.

they shake their heads,
clueless, lost,
wringing hands over
broken dreams,
shattered hopes,
never seeing the poison
they poured into the well.

they fed us lies,
dressed in smiles,
served us bitterness
with a silver spoon,
and now they cry,
lament the taste
they brewed themselves.

they poisoned the fountain,
with fear, with hate,
with words that cut deep,
scars that never fade.
they poured their failures
into our veins,
and now they wonder
why we bleed resentment.

they wanted angels,
but raised us in hell,
expected purity
from tainted roots,
and now they sit,
confused, bewildered,
as the bitterness flows.

if only they saw
the source of the stream,
the hands that tainted
the water we drink,
they might understand
why the world tastes
the way it does.

but they won’t,
they can’t,
and so they wonder,
clueless, lost,
while the streams run bitter,
and the fountain runs dry.