Sometimes it’s tradition,
Or just a rite of passage,
To achieve, attain,
To be seen successful,
Following it like god’s own word,
As we heard…that they were his.
But who first heard?
God speak all this wisdom?
Who first told?
That success is happiness?
Was it in a poem, a ballad,
An epithet, epic or just a Myth?
The blind following the blind,
The rats racing up to the attic,
A pied piper is tuning his flute,
And we all ran along to drown.
All that heard was music in head,
In tranced belief swim we must.
Racing to a fate,
For the final cleanse.
A pied piper is smiling within.
June 15, 2016