Maundy Thursday - Poem by James Tipp
White washed Lemmings
They gather like white washed lemmings awaiting their fate
Charged again with previous vows that have been broken
They stir themselves into yet another orgy of profound nothingness
Knowing full well that what is required has no human possibility
They have failed on-mass before they leave the building.
But the circle must be complete as this is a tradition of vanity
Outside the world neither see or hears or really cares at all.
The whole game is played over and over, and the excuses
They remain the same, broken vessels called we bow the knee.
The process like all traditions seems ridiculous lacking truth
The lemmings continue to get smaller in number each year
Will the game ever cease, outside the living one loves the world.
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