Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.137.165.75

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem


The gavel echoes, a hollow wooden sound,
a stage set for a truth yet to be found.
Or buried deep beneath the practiced phrase,
"In aid of legislation," a theatrical haze.

The cameras flash, a hungry blinking eye,
consuming drama as the moments fly.
Each carefully crafted question, a barbed dart,
aimed not at answers but at tearing hearts.

The witness sits, a figure stark and small,
beneath the weight of scrutiny's cruel thrall.
Their words dissected, twisted, rearranged,
a narrative spun where innocence is estranged.

The politicians posture righteous and grand,
their voices booming across the listening land.
A performance staged for public's fleeting gaze,
while shadows lengthen in bureaucratic maze.

The documents pile, a mountain cold and stark,
each page a weapon in the gathering dark.
"Transparency," they cry with practiced ease,
while hidden agendas whisper through the breeze.

The truth, a phantom elusive and unseen,
lost in the rhetoric, the grand political scene.
A theater of power where justice takes a bow,
and legislation's guise conceals the hollow vow.

The echoes fade, the cameras cease to gleam,
another spectacle, a broken fading dream.
And we, the audience, left to wonder why,
the search for answers leaves only a hollow sigh.

©bfa032725

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required