O Captain!, My Captain!

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

                         Here Captain! dear father!

                            This arm beneath your head!

                               It is some dream that on the deck,

                                 You’ve fallen cold and dead.

                                            -Walt Whitman

As a consequence of our culture, our world, our age, we come to comply with the norms and demands that are placed upon us, but not from within us.  

We all share this same burden, this tremendous gravity pulling us down to conform, to be reasonable, sensible, like the other good ones do.

To risk noncompliance, in many ways is tantamount to social suicide, as labels do tend to afix themselves upon the breasts of our most brave.

When, as sadly most finally do, their soul now quiet submits and dutifully takes its place in line.  

At first, the cheers, the smiles, the hugs, the pats on the back, and oh! the gold stars sprinkled betwixt the good boys and the good girls! 

This love, this acceptance we belong to such a good tribe! What a soothing elixir this is, after my long senseless battle waged over my youthful passions and childish longings?!

The price paid, seems not much at all! “Why did it take so long for me to finally grow up?, to figure this out?!, to finally have the chance of becoming the man all want me to be?!?!

Though it all sounds so reasonable, it’s not ones self that whispers to us now, but the charmer smiling widely, wheel in hand peering over the bow.

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