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."