Letter to the Future, from the 20th Century

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Be kind to me, my child, when you decide
to write your little books of history.
Despite my progressive philosophy,
I was only able to provide
orphaned children with a fancy name -
"tolerance . . . compassion . . . peace" for all,
"healthier self images" for all,
"feeling good," and someone else to blame.

Was my inheritance less shamed than yours?
Who can cultivate a life, enraged,
When everyone is busily engaged
in opening and closing many doors?
Still, there you are - confused, alone, alive.
You are the product, not of love or joy,
but of my desperation to destroy and not to destroy.
In truth, you were an accident. Survive.