The Plank

By Andrew R. Duckworth

Bitterness grasps hold
Of both the young and the old
In a world hostile to reason.
One hopes it is but a season,
But the years prove otherwise
As anger takes rise,
Through the childlike cries,
Even under peaceful skies.

Walking the plank.
After walking on eggshells,
Walking the plank,
Where a crew swept with madness
Seeks to throw one overboard.
One eggshell too many,
And you’re adrift in a sea of confusion,
Waiting for the sharks to eat their prey.

Adults were adult once,
Before the need for constant catering,
Before having to be coddled like a child,
Before regressing to toddlers,
Before skin so thin you can see through it.
There are no life rafts on this sinking ship,
But there are the tools to build them,
If only one puts in a little work,
The thing we’re desperate to give up.