Quiet at High Tide

 

I’m not getting out.

You’re not getting out.

The tide is rising

and we’re all gonna drown.

 

We’re made this way;

temporary things.

Vociferous,

meaningless,

each corrupted in our way.

But, so  easily convinced

that we are beautiful,

meaningful.

As if we were made to be

programmable,

damnable.

 

Riding high on our wavelength,

but just a creature from the shore.

Washing up

in the morning,

as if the ocean

doesn’t want us anymore.

 

It’s a  fact,

we’re unembraceable.

Our time comes,

it is inevitable.

No time to mourn,

no time to cry.

Our condition

is terminal.

We only live

until we die.

 

Made to make,

but we haven’t found a way

to take it with us.

The time comes,

but it’s not what we surmise.

We build ourselves up

on our pedestals,

praying that we will survive.

 

But, when the day comes,

as the water

closes over us,

hits us like a crashing plane,

explodes upon us like a warhead,

we’ll know the hour and the day.

 

I’m not getting out.

You’re not getting out.

The tide is rising

and we’re all gonna drown.

 

 

HG – 2021

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