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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