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Do not be fooled by burnished words

Falsely shining, revealing naught

That aim to please but mostly dupe

Condescension barely caught

The cycle sings the same old song

It washes sins, erases spite

But there be stains that never fade

And hurts that cannot be set right

Wearing airs like laurel wreaths

Look beyond the grasping hands

Begging for your high regard

For preening gaze that never lands

Gross veneration is a pit

‘Tis infinite, its bottom black

Camouflages murky truths

Remorse can scarcely ooze through cracks

Untainted are the knowing few

That fight against the fatal tide

Wakeful to the emptiness

Where wasteful dreams from fists are pried

Discovery of one’s own limits

As much as seeing one’s true gifts

Will set you on your path to peace

And anchor sense once set adrift

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