Plus ça change

[ragashree]

The old still rule the world, and school our lives:
Though we will rule the world when we are old
And wise, for we shall find their hidden gold
When delving deep in midden vaults, and rise

Absolved from blame, although so fraught with whys
They gave to us in way of children sold
To lead their lives as reckoned, tales and told
For parents' price, and uses we despise.

But how can we deny these ties? What hence
Provides for us except of human mind?
Claim, yes, to cast our lot on providence

But inward nature gnaws on doubt, to bide
Its time in thrall to our inheritance –
Like crawling things, continuing in kind.

 

[ragashree]

Dear me... I must have been feeling extremely cynical when I wrote this little sonnet!

I fear I also may have strayed a little too far into wilful poetic obscurity in places. It was actually easier to understand, less ambigous, when I first wrote it, but then I decided that the ambiguity would express what I wanted it to mean more precisely - even if it probably now only makes sense to me!

 

[InsatiableCuriosity]

It reminds me of the concept of the Indigo Child - the harbingers of change of consciousness both immensely wise yet innocent

 

[Salomé]

I can't claim to know what you were thinking when you wrote it, but I can enjoy it all the same. Brings so many different images to mind, probably none of them what you intended - but that's part of the beauty of poetry.

I really enjoy your mastery of pace and rhythm.

 

[wildcat]

Yes, this exactly it! The wheel goes round. The old rule, and it is a bad rule. The young become old and they will be as bad, or worse.
The old have experience? They have not learned anything. They are repeating the mistakes of the previous generations. They are happy to execute; they enjoy the power to be fools.

Good work! Insight and beaty.