Original Poems

The Cult of Excuses

(A cult we join when we’re too young to realize what we’ve done. – Owen)

I was welcomed in the fold
When I was but twelve years old
All I had to do was prove
Worthy of the honor

Sent out on an errand blind
Frightened nearly out of mind
Scared to run and scared to move
Thought I was a goner

Still I did the deed as planned
Met their every last demand
Stood there underneath their gaze
Steeled for their abuses

But then they seemed satisfied
For when pressed, I merely lied
I’d entered the final phase
The Cult of Excuses

Join the cult, and you’ll discover
None a friend, and all a lover
Just one goal, to keep it going
To prolong the chase

Forty years I can recall
With excuses for them all
You don’t join, and there’s no knowing
How much truth you’ll face

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