Antiquated Post-Modernist Bedlam (or a cog without a wheel): August 2009

Sunday, August 30, 2009

He rose from a small hatch of iron
to be struck with a fierce saltwater breeze
standing inches above the water line
and scanned the horizon

a lone ship's mast could barely be made out on the horizon
he sneered at the vessel
wanting to laugh contemptuously at the poor ship
and the poor souls within it, held by the mercy of the sea,
trapped by the colors of the flag that swayed atop the little ship

he climbed back into the hatch, sealed the door
and ship began to dive.
to his domain.
a truly existential world of him,
and the seemingly infinite deep.
A playground and research area
free from the oppression of everything human.

A man of no nation, but one with struggle
His past pain guarded with the same steel plates that protect
His crew from the pressures of the ocean

The first post-industrial westerner
to live a completely green existence
he makes your hybrids look like toxic waste dumps
Everything he and his ship needs provided for
by the ocean he hides in.

The maniacal zeal of exploration
And advancement for everything deemed great
For a race he no longer wanted a part of
Yet couldn’t ignore

I understand his contempt
Often wish to disappear under an ocean of solitude
Leave behind the violence and anger
Plaguing our civilizations

This will not help though
And we need all the great minds we can muster
But he already knows that
And he does not want to do an injustice to mankind
And leave his lessons in the depths of his mind and sea

turning away from humanity and man
does not make him separate
does not strip the sinew and fiber of
his soul away leaving a more educated being
and his going under, does not necessitate
rising above man and our shortcomings

his ambition and zeal impress all who have witnessed it
his knowledge and vision scatter any thoughts of insanity
but his fear, and resentment,
his distain and contempt...

that is what will lead him under
and in the end will be his going over