Divergence

THOSE who seek the Golden Calf, the safety of the crowd,

Shall never tread the lonely path, as one who stays unbowed.

Their chains are made of finest steel; invisible, it seems,

The shackles rarely tested, in this land of hollow dreams.

As fork'd tongues of lesser minds doth spew their sterile hoard,

The innocent are sacrificed upon the moral sword;

No rest nor peace for those who, like the sheep of blackened hue,

Must bear the brunt for hypocrites, who fear the mighty Few.

© Troy Southgate