Breaking the cycle

One heave forward two drags back
 
Like the tide waning,
a generation folds into the next
 
Each swirl a finger tipping in a mindless game of 'catch me if you can'
 
And the line recedes away from the shore
 
Grubs consume their cocoons; their new wings useless
upon the gale force winds of change

Daughters unravel their mothers to reveal a cluster of tadpole dreams yet hatched
 
The cynical children float like autumn leaves, admiring their rotting colours reflected upon the salty glass
 
Those with a grain of faith dare hold their breath and dive,
 
stumbling upon the neon sponge beneath them
 
They are the ones who awaken and push back against the current
 
Transfigured into fish, they descend,
 
dodging the next swing of the pendulum,
 
holding onto their opium as the sickle harvests the tall poppies
 
When the swell gets too rough schools coagulate and die young,
 
falling to the ocean floor as sandy glitter that buries itself in coral's grip
 
When the Spirit blows they'll be rolled along with the other sons of Abraham and make their way to God,
 
who was never very far away