Cūriōsitās (L)

 

Cūriōsitās (L)

(A lone voice whispers)

Have I made you read this to swallow my poetic pill?

For is there such a thing now as free will?

Overseas or on thou hill?

Aren't we all slaves to Curiosity, walking slowly to the grave?

But is the trick to always read the room?

And not just to swallow any old pill before you too, enter the tomb?

Not to be conditioned to worship despair.

For it's a curse carried on whispering air.

So does free will exist, or are we all bound tight by invisible chains?

Which we rattle in vain.

With tired arms or youthful charms.

With eyes aflame, in anger or generational shame?

So sleep tight with these thoughts tonight, if they still linger and remain.

Have I made you read this to swallow my poetic pill?

For is there such a thing now as free will?

Overseas or on thou hill?

Aren't we all slaves to Curiosity, walking slowly to the grave?

A slave to life and all the whispers it brings.

Day or night as the many hidden Pied Pipers

Sing?

(C) Copyright John Duffy 

Image shared under fair usage policy.