You hold this against me.

I am not to deviate from this course.

You push these events with force.

I no longer feel free

to live life as it may come.

Your "traditions" are made to feel

A sense of creation that you made real

And this desperation makes me run

Away from your need to hold to

An idea shared by your mind alone

But I am not your partnering clone

And I feel no need to mold to

This cast form you created.

Do not alter any detail

Or you complain and you wail

Your need for consistency unsated.

No room for rendition.

The thing I would change,

I'd abandon this age,

I would bury the need for "tradition."