A suitcase of thought.
A family judges,
But your soul can’t be bought.
They sit on their thrones.
Right down to your bones.
You have too many children,
Or perhaps, not enough.
You’re too fat or too thin,
Or your life isn’t tough.
You don’t have the right job,
To make the top people look.
Running out of credit
And cheques in your chequebook.
And your father and your mother,
They join in, to decide,
That your life just isn’t right,
Not deserving of their pride.
Your house is too small,
Or even too large.
It isn’t what they’d choose,
They’d rather live on a barge!
And your car is too old,
And you spend money on books.
You never did what you were told,
Despite all those dirty looks.
So, the weight of guilt
Is killing you.
The asylum calls at night.
Your shortcomings, they haunt you.
You are wrong and they’re so right.
If only you could turn the clock back,
Get that job in a bank.
Build up a secure future,
With stocks and shares to thank.
They’ve got big houses and families,
New cars and caravans.
Play golf and polo at weekends,
Whilst you’re a flunky, washing pans.
But one day, you wake up
And realise guilt is all in the mind
And their judgements and blame
Likewise, are in their heads confined.
None of it exists,
If you put it out of your thought.
So, live your life as you want to,
And your dreams will no longer be fraught.
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