On Being Alive as the Apocalypse Begins (Poem)

Every year in my January Month of Poetry exercise, the group is set a challenge one day of the week to write to a prompt. One of this year's challenges was to take lines from a favourite poem and build a new poem from them. I used the closing lines of Mary Oliver's On Travelling to Beautiful Places to create this one.

On Being Alive as the Apocalypse Begins 

and in truth the only ship there is
is the ship we are all on
burning the world as we go

this ship that we can't get off, now
maybe once we could have
we could have dived off the deck, slick with salt and hard dreams
cutting through the white horses of the glimmering sea
to take our chances with the seals and the sharks
turning our faces to the distant shore

maybe once we could have turned this ship around
or, if not that,
we could have put the matches back in the box
chosen sunsets and fruit and song and touch
over the savage pleasures of power
over watching the world on fire and delighting in our spite
or even just our apathy

the only ship is this groaning, aching ship
rusted up with all the ways we hate each other
and hate the world, and hate ourselves

only the thinnest line of light left
only the softest whisper
only the smallest chance, that this ship

could remember itself and come back to itself
could leave behind the fires and the blood
could set a course instead for the far horizon
could sail by moonlight and the gentle hand of the waiting stars

could find, again, the god that waits
inside the pearl-pink dawn.

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