This state of way

They hold their courts of pomp and ceremony in the name of history they say. They sway the poor and destitute at arms length to avoid acknowledging their eyes, their hearts, their voices for existing in this state of way. They laugh of joy in conceited waste, and waste and waste. Entitlement lives and must be maintained this way they say. They expect respect for rank in society and the loyalty of blood and sacrifice with no questions ever put their way. They scoff and laugh sipping sherrys in clubs of oak panelled, vaulted halls, their derrières on the softest leathers while outside beggars crawl out of their way.