Woe betide lower men who fickle facades embrace
And wit’s hard-won gold for shifting dross exchange;
Dubbing avarice-sired glosses exquisite gems pure,
With obscuring eyes decimating solid worth's range.
With their own ears they cannot first-hand hear,
And gauge if wild grapevines solid realities say;
There's always standard hearsay in each sphere,
That defines world’s weightier subjects of the day.
It's the stark lack of depth in these artless geeks
That hatches and pupates corporate hydras’ fads:
Gimmicks-iced shenanigans to sate whims of cads;
Lie-tipped rackets hymned by classist parrot beaks.
They're the distant acquaintance who moans louder
Than the actual first-bereaved's grief-laden shoulder.
You behold the fairy eye riled by wetting garlic wafts,
That gives its tear to one unhurt by the vexing shafts.
Methinks all existence and its rigged veneers would have ceased,
If the few manipulating hucksters on its skewed stage so pleased!
Copyright © Hannington Mumo | Year Posted 2019
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