In Aid of Persecution
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
Copyright ©
Bernard F. Asuncion
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