What an ongoing charade.
Openly displayed.
But quickly losing a significance,
With an influence that had been...
Held in such glowing esteem.
That once had followers believing...
Those self righteous could do anything.
With a doing to choose who they could demean.
And now they are seen as slithering beings.
To decide their steadfast faith can be replaced,
By a creating of exits as those equally fake...
Cheer their escapes.
With blessings to bestow upon themselves.
What an ongoing charade.
Sold and cheaply bought,
Just as common as their worthless thoughts.
Dispensed in ceremonies at the expense,
Of those unconscious and blinded by deceit.
Although a feeding to eat this,
Will not strengthen their minds.
Or stand then tall on their feet.
What an ongoing charade.
And displayed by those meek and weak,
On knees and with foolish beliefs to keep.
And yet this addiction to them stays.
Even though proof of them being betrayed,
Appears through their tears and under their noses.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem