Wandering Odysseus,
did what a man could,
fell in love so easily,
bound to piece of wood,
so brave, so stupid,
so evidently plain,
his folly of base sin,
built his water grave,
fast forward to right now,
and not much has changed,
though women upon rocks,
do seem a little strange,
but a honey trap prolongs,
to make war out of love,
ensuring to err remains the norm,
sick joke from up above,
but if not this, something else,
comes blaring through,
adorned with garish lights,
in all shades of blue,
the soundtrack of the city,
comprise so very loud,
testing mob mentality,
dispersing every crowd,
a siren has always meant,
bad luck, or foolishness,
for him back then, and we today,
ignore judiciousness,
just like an ancient song,
these bleeps, call control,
both crime and so-called order,
examines every soul.