By Tony DeLorger © 2012
How smug the elite,
their transgressions at task,
the hypocrite’s toll resounding,
their stone edifice crumbling,
built on the sands of time passing.
How desperate their pleas,
the damned hoarse whining,
hard done and misconstrued,
misunderstood, and disrespected,
such an abomination of right.
How deluded the thoughts of importance,
the bare faced lies of justice,
bent and twisted to fit into a languishing truth,
a vast and in-eloquent lie,
filled with the venom of self-interest.
How destructive the will,
when ingratiation justifies right,
the bark a stance unrelenting, yet without reason,
inept in the eyes of reality,
yet a cheap disguise, a trickery blatant.
How sad the belief in a mist,
a veil of uncertain and unstable illusions,
learned as truth, as substance,
yet the fodder of insecurity,
a blanket worn in defense.
How lost the elite,
woven into their own fabric of denial,
filled with accusation and blame,
always right, a birthright,
the world at their pleasure.
How complete, the elite.