Credo Of Tyrants, Elites, And Despots Poem by Alfred Barna

Conflict is for the masses, as our ends are always won
The decisions have been made
All that remains is for the people to see it spun
The grand arena was the world's first open spell
As your blood was upon the blade
Our stature grew and our treasuries did swell
Distract and discords are tales that we weave
To meld your minds into service
As we laughed and joked on what you believe
Cults of personality was the coup de gras you see
As we said you don't deserve us
As the people humbled themselves down on one knee
Though at times the commoners rebel and wizen
These things pass, as apathy slowly regains hold
For we always look deep into the far horizon
Eventually, the commoners have their fill
And inch by inch retreat, then as we grow bold
And they are ready to bend once again to our will