She’d come down alone from the house on the hill,
But changed, I could see that too,
‘I can’t, any longer, keep seeing you Phil,
I just don’t believe in you!’
She’d listened too long to the words in her head
That were placed there by somebody else,
A secret agenda misled her, I said:
‘You need to believe in yourself.’

‘I know they sound plausible, up on the hill,
They’re experts at twisting your mind,
They plant their subversion so deep in your will
That you leave your own feelings behind.
But listen instead to the beat of your heart
And the things that you know, these are true,
Don’t let them divert you, confuse you or hurt you,
Hang on to the essence of you.’

‘I need something deep to believe in,’ she said,
‘They offer that, up on the hill!’
‘They offer submission to what they commission,
And part of their creed is to ****.
The secret of living is give and be given
Allow every man his own creed,
For nothing is certain, there’s no iron curtain
Between what you want, or you need.’

‘The rules are laid down in their Holy Book,
They tell me they come straight from God.’
‘In whose estimation, or interpretation,
Which version, don’t you think it’s odd?’
The next time we met she was swallowed in black,
Her head bowed, three paces behind,
Her lips had been sealed, couldn’t answer him back,
It was like the blind leading the blind.

David Lewis Paget