As the 20s roared we could not hear the thunder roll. Like a
morning storm it was followed by bright sun that warmed the earth, honestly our
day was beautiful. However; what will
the night hold in store for us? As the
sun sets we are reminded the night can be an awkward gift giver. From her we received fire, man's crowning
achievement. Yet she caresses us with a
foreboding unknown like the wild, offspring of darkness-- terror of mankind it
can be such a cruel place.
We have become
modern. Even through faltering education
systems we have managed to raise a society of doctors. The glint of surgical steel has been replaced
by gun metal, plastic where applicable.
Our bedside manners have become contrite, abbreviated emotions given for
appearances. In our benevolence we have
become surgeons trying to imitate God.
It is not so cliché to say there is Christ in all of us. There is Christmas in all of us-- pagan
holidays of gift giving. We seem to be
the holy believers who believe in nothing, except tomorrow.
But tomorrow becomes less
bright once your eyes adjust. Have we
lost them? The children-- they are
pieced together from memories long since dead, part pain part promise more monster
than natural occurrence. Current courses
through them they are fire hearted, unnaturally strong-- breaking all that they
touch. Have you hugged one? Fear not, we naturally embrace destruction--
call it love. We birth modern
Prometheans trying to live up to expectations-- that which is
unattainable.
Call it what you wish.
Where are they learning
this? We no longer take stock in
ourselves after privatizing humanity. We
have become commodity traders in an open market. Lassier-faire lesser people we vacation on
the profits, we spend frivolously that which is meant to be kept. Our children are castaways; in cast iron
masks sometimes we lose sight of them.
As if they were monsters fading into the snow and fog of the great
north. They are monsters, we created
them-- we fancy ourselves Gods.
What a tainted image we
have. The monster, monsters, call them
Frankenstiens we've created with our dreams reflect our image. Reflect our ugly, reflect our truths, reflect
on God we breed monsters. God too is a
monster ever present lurking unseen closet dweller. God is the fabled nightmare we respect when
no one is looking and fear when we are all alone. Quite the opposite of our children but they
get their traits honestly.
They have become children
of the wild. Cast into a cold world
where we cannot see their faces-- for those serve as reminders of our failures,
our short comings. Tomorrow is living
proof we are imperfect creators, created imperfectly, in an image crafted to
make us believe in the perfection of flaw.
We are doctors, there is a storm brewing and we must display the
integrity to stare our monstrous creation in the face.
