The Tides


Father is a sailor, he is humbled by the sea
Me I stay at home and build my models of the Ark

We are our parents' product,
The product of our parents:
I mean we're really little more than
Packaged triumphs and mistakes
(plus the pressure points of private hopes), so
'It's okay to cut yourself a little slack, son,
Every now and then again.'

Set to sail on God's ocean,
Set sail till the engines fail, and then:
'Oh well.'
'Guess our kids will deal with this mess.'
Forced into the waters, we
were born swimming, swim
and fail ash
and oil coats our skin
and then
and only then.

Perhaps.

How many adults hiding
in pathetic lifeboats point
the Finger scream and
(case in point) shout
out until we're hoarse, it
won't stop us sinking, no,
won't get us to shore anymore – just
how much
more
can we
take, can we take any
More?

Well we are not children
We are, well…are we really all still children?
Maybe so.

(Why then do we want more ore
Or tiny fancy shiny rings and pretty pretty pretty
Things?)

Okay, okay. I think we get it.
But, please, no more rationalizations.
We're better than this, I believe
We've already grown greyer than them
who birthed us – our youth's been expended on
This miraculous worldwide digital sea.
Unwittingly we've signed up to
The information age altar, innocence
gone bye bye but
curiosity didn't kill this cat.
It made me stronger, and angry, and – admittedly – more blue.
So I say carry on, keep Googling till your eyes cave in.
And then…
And only then,
coated in the thickest filth,
Perhaps then we'll stop.
If there's any more space in the hold.

And one day good god finally
Time to set the course again, it's time
To fix and fight
And never seal it tight again, this Titanic
Titan's far too crippled ancient old
And mewling in some sick reversion
To the stunted steel suckling it’s always been
So still aboard we'll scuttle it, oh yeah
'Guess we'll have to cut it off' (at the ankles)
'Hey we did our best' (oh fuck you)
We'll hack it to pieces
So it can't unfold again
And then we'll do whatever it takes to stay afloat
Until we remember once again to navigate by the stars

(That's the way we used to do it, remember?)

Maybe next time, maybe we can work with our offspring
To build it better. To try again.
'Maybe next time we'll get it right.'
But let's do away with maybe.
I'm sick of it. Aren't you too?

You know they used to say history
repeats itself, in waves, but
There's not much I can do about it, alone.
And – hell – here we go again…

For Father is a sailor, sirens lured him to the sea
Me I stay at home still building models of my Ark
(and pray – and trust – because someday my son must live in them)
So I remind myself of this, constantly, and that thought
makes me grow up
fast

.:.

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