They are magicians, sorcerers, witches of the truth,
prophets, foreseers, magi of discourse.
They will take anything, real or deepfake,
use it as a weapon, gripping on your good faith,
your trust, your ignorance, your willingness
to see them, not as what they objectively are
but as they themselves present.
Even when the minstrel points out the lies,
and the poets recite their independent mind,
they will obscure the light
brought to their faultiness,
react with unctuous speeches,
vague answers laden with elusiveness,
strawmen and fallacies:
their common currency.
Like a naked emperor, they go,
but we follow expectant, with a fixed glance,
how they let the memes out, the fibs run.
And now they have a life of their own.
The aftermath is crystal ball clear
for those who do not overcome
the ignorance barrier.
For those who lack the courage
to object or question tricks
and are not critical,
just nescience-sick.
Victims and allies alike
on a servitude tournament
that rewards acquiescence
docility, indifference,
the kitten, the lamb, the tyke.
Let consensus be your dogma,
cordiality your doctrine,
the TV your bible,
the couch your noble steed,
the remote control your spear,
the cushion your shield,
the critics your foes,
the living room your battlefield.
Know no honor, no courage,
no freedom, no pride.
Keep benighted by those
who dictate your ride.
You may be even staggered,
witnessing the florescence of your kind,
don’t see the mirror in front,
you’re reflection blind.
Unnoticed flies the dragon,
engendered by you and your army
of couch-knights, dimmed, thorny,
cavalcading the idiocy fire wagon,
riding back from the cozy wars
you fought against nobody.
For a ghosty, somber kingdom,
your liberty abolished,
your vassalage bartered away
to a filibuster, a clown,
the first bidder wearing
a look-like crown.