4 BILLION MEN IN A ROWBOAT

Everyday life is a Tiny Titanic
not a large-screen, romantic movie,
but an unreported mini-disaster,
a little rowboat lost at sea
People you love, cramped around you, uncomfortably
with a dozen strangers, eyeing you nervously
hoping to live through the night,
waiting for shouts from a passing ship,
the searching beam of a rescuing light

Most will be gone before this night is thru
when the little life-boat sinks from view
You tie your family together, so you won't get separated,
hoping to keep each other from harm
Startled, you say "Excuse me" to a chunk of ice
that you accidentally bumped with your arm

You have been killed before, by family ties
When you urged people to live, but they were determined to die
They'd had a rough night, they needed a drink
something to sweeten the taste of life's bitter fruit,
some pills, a prescription to deaden their pain

Constant struggle was not their strong suit

You know what it means, when you see them
and the frigid water is like a soothing drug
They start sinking into the deep
You try to rouse them, tell them to kick and move
but they groan and say that they just want to sleep

Beneath the water, fluttering in weak light,
their faces implore you, not to let go,
to keep them company, and follow them down

The dead will not follow you
and you should not follow them
It is not that you have ceased to care
but you must cut that cord,
swim to the surface, and breath the air