Not because of any one thing
Just many little things
piled up into a Mountain
we couldn’t climb
couldn’t even bring ourselves
not because of any one player
not any one move that can be held up
and put forth as reason for such
lack of reason.
not because we were born to fail
or raised to fail
or told we would fail
or believed we’d fail…
but because failure was the result
of hours and hours and years and years
of struggles and rage and so many tears.
It was never one thing that led us to this
Gavrilo would no doubt smirk at the praise
that he started a World War with a shot.
If not him, who would have started it?
Someone, no doubt.
Grandpa, can you see this, can you see our sinking, unsinkable ship?
Can you see us taking tea in the parlor like there is not icy salt water
biting at our ankles?
Can you hear the gurgle of our spirits as we reminisce about what you used to say
watching every election day
when we’d say, concerned and full of hope,
What Can We Do.
“Sit there and worry,”— the words you used.
We may not have started a War with a shot outside a sandwich shoppe.
We may not have built the impassable mountain or fought the unwinnable game.
We were just men who failed.
Failed in so many ways…