They told me, when a boy, that
I would grow to a man; a man
amongst many men, who
would make up mankind.
I wanted to be kind and a man.
There was a future to breath
and a liberty of a reckless
responsibility, to account for.
Oh to grow older than time allows.
To empathise with Prufrock whilst
sneering behind his back at his
anti-Semitism. Oh Ideals!
Comfort cannot always be sought
in ideals but without them
we are barren, leaving only
a shell for our souls.
Elders told me I would lose my ideals:
The young can afford Utopia because
they have not spent their years in
sin and cynicism and words in their ears.
They said that it would be
a dead past for me to
look back upon as one would any memory;
only to smile at my immaturity.
Many leaves turned and fell.
And things died and things evolved
and the unresolved lost import
and those I called comrade I now address as citizen.
I saw a wall fall; I felt the joy, I smelt
the change as year zero ended for some
and began for others. We kept faith.
No! More than that! We kept ourselves.
As the light and my sight faded
and the world entered swarthiness,
there seemed nothing to counter the vacuity
of empty heads that echoed failure.
Our losses should have deflated us
but instead of retreat we saw a greater battle
ahead. Holding steadfast we recognised
error as Death.
So we kick against the pricks
who punch holes in our endeavours
and are afeared that there ever is change
for the better.
