OUR CROSS

Again have they come
with promises of sweet paradise
dripping down their porcine snouts
this din is heard not but by some
whose ears be not deaf by lies
paying homage to their pose that aught
craftily shield from view or
blind us from their obvious rotten core

Our fat wealth they weild
to wet our ignoble greed
betrayal becomes our mother tongue
so we play possum to sheild
our eyes from the carnage they breed
their bloated praise we raise in song
raising still their popular banner high
with a smile that reaches not the eye

But....
time flies as man grows
soon from this slumber shall we rise
to face the blinding truth as we aught
this must be even if comes slow
every deed hidden would one day rise
unveiling its ugliness or beauty to light
leading others into paths of pure delight