Spun

Spun tight

are we.

Spun tight

in our 

beliefs.

Spun tight

in our

brainwash.

Spun tight

 in a world

awash in

ignorance.

Dealing with

a reality 

not understood.

Convictions

evolved to make

 sense.

Make sense

of what the 

senses allow,

of the 

jungle that

surrounds.

Evolved to

relieve angst,

have something 

to hold on to,

cling 

to in the

maelstrom.

Parroting 

nonsense 

generation 

to generation.

Believing all

that’s

told.

Blinded with 

local thought, 

local prejudice.

Firm in our

acceptance.

Beliefs from

a dearth of

knowledge.

So sure.

So sure,

with no

reason

to be.

Infancy

still.

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