The Garden

Faith is the food for fools

A confused, oblique conviction

Revering bygone relic rules

that creak with contradiction

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Stories too dear to dispute

We echo benediction

Serving mainly to subdue

our mental manumission

-

For they make kings of the cruel

in man’s constant affliction

The few to rule over the fuel

in ambition and addiction

-

Away from the sandal circle groove

the cycled superstition

A faint track shows us where to move

to escape predisposition

-

In doubt alone resides the truth

in much-maligned suspicion

Accepting something, given proof

and precise repetition

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Though answers may yet be aloof

resisting all decryption

hunger blights the tainted fruit

of the garden of tradition