The wagons, encircled,

      the gates have been drawn.

 

Unless a devotee

      it might turn out wrong.

 

All bits and pieces,

      at one time, a song.

 

I used to be out there,

      but didn’t belong.

 

Now, I’m back inside –

      outside of the throng.

 

I hear them still chanting

      their mind numbing song.

 

Another religion,

      a convent of craze.

 

Savants of die-hard,

      Avant-garde Kool aide.

 

Just bits and pieces

      won’t make the parade.

 

The soul itself leases

      into the charade.

 

 

©2014, Marvin Welborn

19 April 2014.