Poetry: Meaning (Finding the Way Back Home)

There used to be meaning to the things we do;
a reason or emotion evoked from a gentle comment or touch.
Today an old question is much more poignant "where are all the good men dead,
in the heart or in the head?"

We live in an age where compliments are insults,
a form of insincerity though they often come from un-forked tongues.
This is an age where casual sex and sexually laced touching is rampant,
we have lost the magic in these once intimate acts.

Chivalry is dead and we are all to blame,
murdering it in cold blood then innocently asking why it's gone.
We are hypocrites to the highest order,
driving an admirable aspect of humanity to extinction then complaining it's no longer around.

If there is an answer to the problems of our own doing,
it lies in the minds, hearts, and souls of the next generation.
We are too set in our selfish ways to change the direction of the ship,
all we can do is hold tight to the tiller and pray we survive the storm.