A Fly on the Wall
Observing all, the fly upon the wall,
Sees politicians trip before the fall.
They scheme and whisper, planning their ascent,
On sticky webs of power, time is spent.
It cleans its legs upon the ‘summit’ food,
And buzzes secrets, were it understood.
It watches spouses lie, then softly creep,
While promises are cheap, as kept words sleep.
They rise to the top where there are no ends,
Soon out of sigh, with what they store depends.
The fly on the wall, a tiny, silent judge,
Converging human spirit that won’t budge.
For all their pomp and all their grand affairs,
They’re merely mammals with their silly airs.
One tries to swat it with a mighty whack,
But misses every time, the clumsy hack.
The fly lives on, its life of two days grand,
To watch the finest follies of the land.
For human drama, to its beady eye,
Is just a pile of rot beneath the sky.
A fly upon the plaster sits and waits,
To see which fool will seal his sorry fates.
He watches scandals, secrets, tears, and strife,
The endless, pointless drama that is life.
He buzzes softly, hearing every word,
A tiny, winged, satirical absurd.
He sees the lies in every human heart,
And plays his quiet, observant, tiny part.
This world is just a stage, a fleeting play,
He’ll watch you falter, then he’ll fly away.
A fly upon the pristine ballroom wall,
Obsessed with the mechanics of the fall.
He judges every waltz and every twirl,
A critic in a world of social whirl.
Observing secrets from his perch up high,
He files reports on who has told a lie.
He scoffs at all the human pomp and grace,
And wipes his tiny feet upon their space.
Convinced that he’s the master of the room,
He buzzes softly in perpetual gloom.
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