Our fathers did not live like us
Upon a vessel fixed by mind,
Decorum in their narrow eyes
The trading of a life for life,
Consuming of the tide
In all its intricate and swelling forms
A passion of flesh released.
Living close to nature, they
Knew no sin in killing,
But kept all life in living it.
We, of nature now so tamed,
And indolent on the living water
Take for play their outward form
Of motion, from wooden hulls
To the slap of bleaching sails,
Their faces, we hope, our own
Their hearts were something more
Both savage and content.
Copyright 2004 by David King.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry 360 with permission of the author.
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