Digging Teeth From Dirt
Tired and worn I push deep into the earth
seeking a remnant of the past.
Looking for tales of man and beast,
traditional methods are painstaking and dirty
but digging teeth from dirt is more rewarding
than seeing their whereabouts upon
a laptop.
Quick and easy distorts pride and
benefits those motivated by greed.
Tradition is more than age, it is a sense
of accomplishment and honor.
Listen carefully as the old weep and watch as
their efforts seep into thin downed tales of
glory.
New and Old can coexist in theory,
finding balance between the two might be the
answer but it is greed and speed that control
the new and chips away at tradition.
In time the new will replace the old and eventually
become that which it overcame, what will happen
next? What will be the new, the now? Will the
physical act of digging become a tale told by those
who remember stories whispered by grandfathers.
In the stead of tradition digitized images and sonar
systems are taking precedence and soon they will
prevail, such a future frightens me but not in a
fearful way. It is the loss of value and honor that
rips at my heart.
Still this is my day, my time and for now I will
indulge in this tradition,
I will cherish the dust upon my brow,
the sweat that drips,
the strength from my beating heart and the burn in
my biceps as I manipulate shovel and pick while
digging teeth from dirt.
Tired and worn I push deep into the earth
seeking a remnant of the past.
Looking for tales of man and beast,
traditional methods are painstaking and dirty
but digging teeth from dirt is more rewarding
than seeing their whereabouts upon
a laptop.
Quick and easy distorts pride and
benefits those motivated by greed.
Tradition is more than age, it is a sense
of accomplishment and honor.
Listen carefully as the old weep and watch as
their efforts seep into thin downed tales of
glory.
New and Old can coexist in theory,
finding balance between the two might be the
answer but it is greed and speed that control
the new and chips away at tradition.
In time the new will replace the old and eventually
become that which it overcame, what will happen
next? What will be the new, the now? Will the
physical act of digging become a tale told by those
who remember stories whispered by grandfathers.
In the stead of tradition digitized images and sonar
systems are taking precedence and soon they will
prevail, such a future frightens me but not in a
fearful way. It is the loss of value and honor that
rips at my heart.
Still this is my day, my time and for now I will
indulge in this tradition,
I will cherish the dust upon my brow,
the sweat that drips,
the strength from my beating heart and the burn in
my biceps as I manipulate shovel and pick while
digging teeth from dirt.
