Advice (poem, 1973)

Voices advised me where to go,

While fingers pointed here and there.

My head spun from the echo.

I listened, looked, but went nowhere.

Cemented to the ground was I,

My will held in a vice.

Should I stand there till I die,

My body leaden with other’s advice?

Long I listened to elders speak,

Supposing they were all-wise.

Too much advice made me weak,

So my warrior spirit did rise.

To the unknowing, naïve soul,

Too much advice enslaves the mind.

It hinders seeking out his goal,

And chains him to what others find.

So having finally realized this,

A Thoreau-like change was needed;

For pleasing others won’t bring bliss,

When your own advice is cheated.