We fight each other for the deckchairs on our modern Hindenburg.
We fly high above the London Eye. We think we are the world.
Our airship is bound for a Camelot we pretend and hope is real.
Lightning strikes. Our gondola burns. Everything goes bright. Then still.
Earth Tourist
recently posted poems by alan reynolds
Earth Tourist 
Having just taken a cruise and seen the fights over deckchairs, the metaphor is not lost on me. I like to think of myself as realistically optimistic, but your last line strikes a solemn and too true chord with me.
Thanks, Elise. I wish that ‘realistically optimistic’ weren’t sounding to me more and more like an oxymoron.