Ancient Voices (2005r) Poem by Patrick Wescott

My voice grows tired,
my mind hurts from overload.
I came here seeking,
maybe to find myself.

Now all I hear are egos,
arguments and disdain.
As the ancients pull rank,
and shut out the seekers.

Who the hell made you a god?
Who gave your opinion credance?
Who said I have nothing to offer?
No wonder this place grows dark and rank.

And you wonder why no one stays,
or maybe think you ran them out?
No, you sad close minded being,
we just decided its ok to be different.