Equator / Todd Sullivan

Equator

By Todd Sullivan

 

We're from two separate countries,

the man-made seas dividing us

rolling waves of ethnicity

from one distant shore to the other.

I live in the land of New,

where the laws are written seconds before

I'm forced to decide if I should break them or not.

You live in the land of Old,

where the dead refuse to decompose

and wrap arms around cold flesh to keep on gray bones.

 

I know your country is stronger than mine,

hell, you have commandments from God falling like rain to flood your homes.

You have thousands of years of teachings housed in haughty fortresses

of culture and tradition.

The penalty of breaking these rules is exile

and you don't understand yet what it's like to think on your own,

alone,

but I do,

for all I have is myself,

and though I've made mirrors to surround myself with so that one becomes legion,

all I truly have is myself

and a gift for hearing unsaid glories destined to become traditions

of their own one day.

 

My hearing is sometimes on strike,

I admit,

and I make mistakes,

like when I thought what would be said was that I should

invade your country.

 

So I attempted

and sailed my mirrors to your stone shores 

and walked down your marble streets.

 

I stood in your town square amidst your masses lead by the dead and I

spoke modern words in ancient ears hoping to finally force

arms apart to release cold flesh from gray bones.

 

The living asked me what I promised them if they turned away from lifeless lips speaking

Old words.

 

The living asked me what direction could I give to replace the centuries Old directions they

based their life on.

 

And I stared at them and the dead surrounding them,

knowing I had lost

for how could I tell those only looking to follow that

in my land of New,

each must be their own leader, their own teacher, their own hero.

 

How could I tell those looking only to follow that in my land of New,

the laws are made seconds before you're forced to decide to break them or not,

there's no time to sit down and think things through.

 

How could I bring these people to New when the dead voices speaking in their ears

have made even children gray-haired and wrinkled?

 

I knew I couldn't sail you across those tumultuous man-made seas of race, caste,

and economic class,

so I flew back to the lands of New,

on the winds of defeat and humility.

 

I continued to exist in the loneliness of Unique and Original,

leaving you to your families of Same and Always.