the roots of the sea

the ship that sailed on that forgotten day
bore human bodies which had lost their names
they would not find again their cherished way
to places where they played their childhood games
to the hearth fires with their familiar flames
instead they'd find a new and different land
where their lives would need to have new aims
their job was to survive and become grand

the sun that set on that swift-darkening bay
deprived them of their old familiar claims
those left behind no hint of hope betray
instead with anger they deny their shames
as shifty memory the old truth maims
they'd say that we could never understand
that ties of blood should overcome all blames
their job was to survive and become grand

we now who over this small globe must stray
wish to ignore what history proclaims
that treason though despicable in its way
has forced each of us to redefine our aims
remake our stories in their proper frames
accept the hope that never traitor planned
and make the whole world over in their names
their job was to survive and become grand

prince though the story-tellers make their claims
reality will make their tales seem bland
the rules of history are more than games
their job was to survive and become grand