Illusion Of Class Poem by Ernesto Barca
Illusion Of Class
From rich to riches they say, and all,
With lofty smiles and petty patter,
From streets afield they bleat the chorus
Acid tongues, through pinched lips swagger,
One draws the frame with golden shield,
Inside, a portrait of the latter.
Without I stand, ears peeled and primed
To harvest all that patter,
‘Tis then I learn that it all means less
For that and those that matter.
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5/4/2024 9:39:11 AM # 1.0.0.1119
