U.S.S. Implosion

The ship lists; the starboard side judges the port with fate, while the port side glares down with contempt and favor. Fore and aft are no longer considered as waves lap at the feet of passengers. Not knowledgable enough to assist, they chatter and regurgitate what deck hands think they know.
The Captain looks to his Lieutenants with hope. Hope that they knew more than how to appease guilded sleeves. Hope that they would glance below and feel something besides the power of privilege. Hope that the reality of the ocean spray would awaken their souls.
Below deck the rabble rouses to their station. Grumbling at the years of toil. It was fine when they had theirs and it mattered not that fools gold and real gold were just a matter of reality both purchased this moment.
When the ship sails there’s hope and dreams. When the ship docks there’s anticipation and wonder. Alas, when the ship sinks there’s realization. Realization that everything sinks, all cloth gets wet, and lungs fill at the same rate no matter the lineage.
Now the playing field is even. This is a dangerous moment. A moment where all that matters is within you. The will to live or die for yourself or something greater. Prayers won’t reach heaven before you’re gurgling salt water and prayers, time has becomes a noose.
The spectrum of human emotion and behavior play out below the Captains Mast as he loses faith in humanity and goes down with his ship and dignity, but go down he will, just like the porter in the bowels of the ship.
The scrim of civility dissipates with a reality that comforts some and destroys others. True colors replace national colors and whip in the wind. No place to hide before deaths grasp. Running within anarchy serves the purpose. Everything is futile but breath and thought.
So here we are in rougher seas in a ship that’s rolling with the sea rather than on it. There is no Captain, no dignity, no order. Humanities become a whirlwind of ignorance within green seas. No more “man overboard!”, it’s every man for himself.
The difference today is the rabble is no longer satisfied with waiting silently below for orders. They know there’s no real captain, just a man with a uniform that sinks at the same rate as their tattered rags. They know because knowledge is the currency of the day, understanding is a myth. Truth is a creation, and lies are tools of the trade.
These times have came before and passed. Many ships lay full of treasures to blind future generations of pirates. There are stories of victories over the sea that are humbly recorded and hesitantly retold, because the understanding that reality has layers that order maintains hinges on knowledge that hides the truth of humanity.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s