Independent Thought

There are too many rules inside this head, of what to love and what to dread,

Of whom to trust, and whom to fear, of when to speak and when to steer,

Away from one and towards another, and follow instead the words of a brother,

Where rests this inner truth that’s real, within spoon-fed morsels of how to feel,

In mountains high of indoctrinated texts and rivers wide of created sects,

Of where to stand, for what, and why, of when to grin and when to cry,

To find the answers, when none exist, to hear their echoes, when all just twists,

This tattered net, transitioning mesh, idealization of living flesh,

Curses at unwanted things, traps illusion in greed’s spindly strings,

Dark and nettled, bent to shape, the landscaped thoughts, thusly raped,

Of truth that breathes within the self, of passion, of love, of grace and stealth,

What kinship have thee, what ancestors whole, where is character bred, in life’s foothold,

Must I reap what others sow, and follow through where they too go,

Oh what of  this seared misplaced soul, unraveled at seams from tellings told,

Draped and ripened in merriment, branded with steamed discontent,

Belly full,  treasures vast,  spirit bled for youthful gifts,

A charade, half-finished, that never ends, and claims the light of one again,

A painted canvas of needy spades, digging up foundation that was never made.

~ Samantha Craft, September 2012