Thoughts on 28/09/2014

What utopian faith
Fragments tradition?
‘Loss and new’ arc
With state of mind,
Defunct cults of progress
Play the blame game
When we bow to lesser men,
Periods of transition
Come to dying ends,
Enlightenment, romanticism,
Victorianism, modernism,
Pre, present, post,
What are we left with now?
Cataclysm of decayed
Theories, outstretched
Over fragile form
That no longer fit
Their human face?
The world is blank
To great thoughts,
To new, fresh, moving,
Dead, deformed, dormant,
There is little for us now
But ‘Honey Boo Boo’
And dead eyed trash!
What have we become?
Masters weep at lost lambs
And all the time we
Crave lost symbols,
Feel them like missing limbs
Still aching and attached
As though somehow
We know deep down
There is more to life
Than numb confusion,
“There must be
Some way out of here”*
We say to each other
Each bleeding day,
Sickened by our rejection
Of all that came before.

*Bob Dylan, All Along The Watchtower.
Poem © Phen Weston 2014