In the beginning, in the wet. <br />When it began, in the soft <br />imploding space. <br />Demanding attention and reacting <br />like a silver vulture dying in the desert. <br />We heard screaming. <br />Dissident voices mangled by the <br />unhealthy lifestyle choices they manifested. <br />We screamed in return, our voices <br />as dissident as theirs. <br />'Let us not conform! ' 'Let us not conform! ' <br />In this parent-less world, <br />where laughing seems archaic. <br />We learn only that perspective <br />is not innate behaviour. Instead <br />it is learned from endless cups of coffee <br />and dangling cirgarettes. <br />Smoke twirling like iconic symbols <br />of blood and faith. <br />When rock and roll still held <br />the power to motivate, <br />we listened, danced and exclaimed. <br />We jumped to every conclusion <br />and it was ours to do so. <br />Fled and returned, returned and fled. <br />Both were our emblems and we wore <br />them as proud badges of arrival. <br />Cold cup of egg salad still sitting <br />in the fridge. Warm taste of lighter fluid <br />bravely tinting our lips. <br />In the beginning, in the wet. <br />When pencils were sharp and pens <br />were obsolete. When spelling mattered <br />and slang was ignored. We pickled like <br />over-ripe vinegar in a bottle <br />left behind after a move. <br />The ransom was demanded and so <br />we paid it. Rising with the choirs <br />we heard in Mass. <br />'Let us not conform! ' 'Let us not conform! ' <br />Never let the dollars and cents be <br />the supplier of existence. <br />We live, you see. <br />We are not dead.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-beginning-in-the-wet/
