This is an old poem, written in 2007. Am I still as idealistic as I was then? I hope so.

Idealism reported missing in action

We start off as idealists
we famish in our dreams
our castles crumble in the Dark Ages of life
we eat poison and drink bitterness
we let go of the hot-air-balloon string
and bow to the gods of “the way things are”

Often it is no great drama
we are killed not by a dagger
but by the insidious seepage of reality
that grows like mistletoe in our brains
and soon takes the reins
and steers us along a path only slightly different
until, laying drugged up in the back seat,
we arouse ourselves and do not notice
the new conformity of the scenery

We believe we are still hitched to a star,
somewhere in Centaurus, Andromeda or Orion
while, all along, we have been tied to our sun,
travelling around and around
in dizzying circles of sinister status quo

Something has become our worshipped goal

Idealism Tracing Service

harsh? Perhaps, but family is a gift
for now, that passes
but too often ties down and
gags, smothers, hangs
us up to the altar of this
only-here-and-now
unaware that beyond is a larger clan
that is all we will have left
when these have gone
when we can see, with Jesus,
more brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers,
expressions of God

harsh? Perhaps, but career does not start in motion the chain
of work, to money, to fulfilment, to happiness
unless it is done with the most
enticingly rare and audaciously daring
purpose:
alignment with our unique role
for creating a shocking new
un-God-forsaken world

harsh? Perhaps, but even the most innocent of roles
clothed around the form of
orthodoxy incarnate
has limited our hope for the future
and vision that we dared to achieve
now all-but-desecrated
in our need to be needed
to fit in like a ring on a finger
slowly strangling
and refusing to be removed
while the finger grows
whenever we feel irreplaceable
like the ashes and dust that make up our earth
that will be replenished when we join them

Yes, while our backs were turned,
idealism eloped with mystery
and we were hemmed in by our new masters
clarity and “JU”,
rarely called by its true name
justification of the unjustifiable

Abject as this situation seems
we can nevertheless retrieve our souls
and let them loose again
in the paddock of hope
for, as we can imagine a world of harmony,
God is necessity, the mother of invention

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