It's a Wonderful (Really) Life.

Freed from parents and old friends alike,
without obligation or well-defined purpose,
thus we dully bob and drift through our best years.

Our broad preconceptions neatly packed away,
never to be seen again, along with old prejudices and strong-founded convictions.
A preponderance of complex thought and a paucity of simple context
the open mind expands further, it's seam stretched and strained
exposing young naive tissue, unperturbed by startling absurdity and paradox
more and more data's drawn in, too much to sort and compile
an overflowing bin of recycled ideas, each useless and indiscernible.

We are flung from the neat platform of adolescence, never looking back,
alas our descent is parachuted, its thrill stunted,
we drift awkwardly into our new existence, and there is no sink or swim,
no moment of powerfully executed self-preservation.
As misinformed and falsely reassured children we gently drift
on an endless and arctic pool of doubt and apprehension
alone in all things, but together in helplessness
our feet straining for the bottom
our arms outstretched, reaching for a ledge to grasp.

The lame black tube around our waist keeps our chest and head dry,
no real contact, the full shock of the freezing water denied to us.
How I wish I could plunge deep
freed from my acrid black inner-tube, my obnoxious and repulsive lifesaver
to feel the icy rush of desperately cold water all around me
to look in all directions and see naught but darkly blue
to shake my fist at it or to gradually perceive it
to face the dark abyss alone
and alone I might find myself.