| This Edition's Poetry |
HYPOCRITE
I stand upon my pedestal
To be admired by all
To be noticed
To be seen.
Arrogantly, I survey all
Before me
Yet I’m too blind to see
The spiderweb cracks
Forming at the base
That the coat I’ve thrown
Upon me
Consists of all the lies I’ve
Told to get me here.
My shoes are made of clay.
The rose-colored glasses
With blinders on the side
Hide this sad fact from me:
Unbeknownst to me my pedestal stands
Upon sinking sand ---
And it is lowering me
Into the ground
At a rapid rate.
I’m weighted down
By all the bullshit
I’ve worn as my crown.
Yes, I AM blinded
To this sad fact.
I am a joke.
I cannot see
Forests from trees.
I am a hypocrite.
A sad, shallow shell
Of a man.
As I disappear
Into the sand,
I smile serenely
Oblivious to the fact
Of my utter stupidity.
I WON’T be missed.
by Thomas Childs Jr.
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