A million swarming voices,
A thundering, roaring crowd,
The silent scream of reason,
Deafened in the noise.

If I could only sort the stories,
If I could only tread this tempestial tide,
If I could grasp the satin rope of clarity,
I would find peace inside my heart.

Too often we listen to the loudest voice,
Too often we heed to the shepherd's staff,
We are led astray by the beckoning nonsense,
Dragged beneath the raging waves.

I am pulled by many tethers,
I am torn at many threads,
So many perspectives,
Far too many say "I know the truth."

What is truth?
I wonder,
What secret knowledge burdens your heart,
What great importance enthrones your ego?

With the true sages gagged,
The forked tongues flatter with hidden truth,
All Indigoes, Crystals, Aryans and Chosen Ones,
Scramble for a piece of this pride.

Shame on you who claim the seat of world,
For sparse melanin, cosmic destinies or purple auras,
It is you Chosenites who sow the seeds of confusion,
It is you who sell the wool of sheep!

What becomes of confusion,
If every sheep strays from the shepherd?
How many legs can one man break?
How much fear can one Lassie inflict?

There are so many paths,
In the rhetorical labyrinth,
Many voices with diverse words,
Can I chose the right direction?