Spun Poem by John Prophet

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.