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Please ‘Play’ The Audio/Video Above And Follow Along With The Words Below.
A shoal of fish turns as one,
A thousand bodies, a single sun.
Each swirl, each shift, a perfect dance,
As though they move by pure romance.
Above the skies, the starlings wheel,
A living storm, a spinning seal.
One mind, one pulse, one secret thread,
A silent language never said.
How can they know the moment right,
To change direction, left to flight?
No voice, no sign, no shouted plea,
Yet all respond in unity.
“But they are beasts,” you might protest,
“Free choice is ours, we stand possessed.
We choose our paths, our words, our ways,
Our thoughts are ours through all our days.”
But pause—recall the footage shown,
Of marching crowds, a pulsing zone.
One spark ignites, the rest obey,
A tide of people moves that way.
They swirl like fish, they wheel like birds,
No orders given, no guiding words.
From skyward shots the truth is plain,
A single rhythm runs their vein.
Still doubt? Then hear the football ground,
Ten thousand voices rise in sound.
One chant erupts, another grows,
In perfect time the chorus flows.
Strange, you might think, unnatural still,
Yet common now, a practiced skill.
For thought it seems is not just mine,
But shared across some unseen line.
We claim our minds, unique, apart,
Yet echoes live in every heart.
Could it be so—that deep inside,
We’re linked by threads we cannot hide?
Catch Ya Later …..
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Ven Bunce
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