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.
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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