Wisps of incoherence seek refuge in
empty caldrons
new and untainted
free of scratches and dents
absent the scaring of rusty thought
A canvas awaits
ideas to be absorbed in permanence
someone else’s ideas anchor
the canvas to hold them as truths
for its life cycle
Empty spaces filled and
new track laid with followers held
to pre-determined paths
windblown sands hide remnants
of those who escaped the yoke
stevehallsbooks 
Some do escape – and yet, did they?
All good wishes,
Eric
It depends on which side of the fence you’re on. Maybe no one did. Maybe everyone did. Perspective can do funny things.