Wolf and the Owl
Poetry, Lyrics, Translations
and Musings by Alex Etchart

The Tainting

By on Wednesday 23rd November, 2011

Its becoming a distant memory
Like a fading photograph with forced smiles
I lose my genuinity
And join the tainted masses
Who’ve given up on love’s trials
And who, too, lost a little faith along the way.

I can’t find my energy
To give, to receive, all the same,
I’ve gained a little apathy
I won’t wait in the pouring rain
For no angel down from heaven,
Just aspire to augment
My own selfish imperfection,
And maybe
Have a little fun
Along the way.

Friends have gained the importance
They should never have lacked anyway
I pay my respects at the altar
Of the cheesy friendship train
Surround myself with bro-mances
Not easy to obtain
But eternally rewarding:

Somehow, steadfast friends, paradoxically
Hold they key to eternal life in the practical
as much as spiritual sense of the phrase.
Its not what we’re told, they say don’t die old
If you can’t find true love when you’re young.
Well true love is no longer
The game that comes to mind
When I think of the times that were fun.

I’ve earned a few practical skills, such as
To distinguish the good from the bad
OK there’s no Dark Side like in Star Wars
But there’s traits that should not be had

I’m not sorry, that’s the crucial point
For anything I have done.
I took the time
And I have learnt
I’m not the cause of none. (poetic double negative, meant to mean ‘I didn’t cause anything’)
If I never meant no pain,
And acted as best I could,
Then I can climb my way to
An internal guiltless heaven
In that I did everything that I should.

If I rid me of things that I cared about
Then it was meant to be,
It was time to shed the layers
And start to think of me,
You can blindly pour and dote
With a fountain of energy
Until you realise it has a bottom,
And if the droplets roll away free
Off saturated ground
Straight back into the sea
They’re wasted.
They must become the roots of a tree
To preserve the cycle of energy.
And if two people can’t manage that
Then with an audit reduce the team
Like in a large software company.

Poetry is afraid of comparing us to machines
We are both feral and pre-programmed
So let’s hack into our natures, our seams
To oxymoronically free ourselves from the hormonal dreams
That dupe us into ‘love’. Not insincere.

Just irrational I mean.

Let me propose a toast
To reason.
Our tried and tested friend,
Craze and revelry,
Rebelling is great,
But when the long night ends,
Within the morning hangover,
A single voice sings through:
The art of rationality
Demands the water for you,
This life giving substance
Flows through your body
And processes the chemical exchange,
As you adjust to a new body,
Slightly different, slightly the same,
Ever changing in all but name.

Allow evolution,
Give nature it’s due.
Just like you let your emotions reign
Let common sense do too.
The time has come for onion layers
To be confidently peeled
Learnt a little,
Lived a lot,
Ready to be healed.

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Posted in: Poems

Blog owner, singing/strumming person, word speaker, community arts make-happen-er, eco-baby.


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