Villages are predatory creatures
They can consume the very soul
The weight of custom and tradition
Bearing down on the very whole.
Things change slowly
As the years roll on,
Power gradually acceding
From the generation gone.
The names seldom change,
Only the current face,
As each succeeding generation
Knows and keeps its place.
The rebellions of youth
Maybe tolerated for a while
Until the village gradually
Imposes its own approved style,
Or the dissenter is ejected,
Pressured to move on,
Family links strained but held
Safe distanced but gone.
Maybe in time,
If acceptance can be shown
Of practice and custom.,
Forgiveness has been known.
There is a price for acceptance
A certain conformity assumed
As time smooths down the edges
And rebellion is consumed,
Each hundred years just a blink
As their graveyards are filled
And in the cause of tradition
Dissension smothered and stilled
Yes, villages are predators
Keeping their inhabitants secure
The lines of succession
Long established and sure.
Widely flung around its bounds,
Having long ago taken control,
The spirit of each village zealously
Protects and guards the whole.
