Were you haunted by those ghosts?
Not the ones who died, but the ones that lived
In the minds of those who thought they knew,
They had their fingers on the pulses
Of those who had let the blood run cold.
Was it all too much? To be part of that
Heritage of death and deliberation?
Or was it that the fish were doomed to die?
The futility was just too hard to fight
And you knew it was now or never.
Though you tried to find a place, remote
And reachless on this earth
Those albatrosses carried on
Pulling you under the tides of
Stream and sea.
Are we any different? Is it merely
Circumstance? Or would the twitch
Upon the threads of our existence
Unwind us into a thousand strands
Forcing us to choose the same?
Standing on that stone-cold
Precipice, would we have the strength
To turn and head for home,
Or would we dive headlong into