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Poem

He speaks with charisma and style
He portrays a commendable role
His words seek to charm and beguile
But who should we really control?

His words lift the beat of our hearts
We listen with passions on fire,
He taps into that very part
That leads us to bow and admire. 

But his make up comes off in the night
In back rooms devoted to schemes
That seek to convince us he’s right.
 For the next day he rises and gleams. 

The façade is but glad wrap of fame
It clings to a surface of shame,
It masks every pock mark and crack
It is hard to see past the tack.

We see through the eyes in our skull.
Not through the eyes deep within.
By the time the façade starts to dull
We are lost; for deceit is what wins.

The candidate primps in his cloak;
He is hoist with a self made petard
Mark well how he carries the yoke.
It is us who will find the way hard.

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