this silk-suited, grey-haired chameleon,
straight-backed, mouth a blur,
a surreptitious smile just underpinning
the guile and smooth tongued rhetoric,
of a fully trained and proficient purveyor of reality, questionable.
How very misconstrued the truth may be,
when dressed in elegant clothing,
and told with such graceful conviction,
eloquent delivery and that smile,
used like a full stop, a pause between breath,
to embody trust.
A voice like a warm and tender lover’s whisper,
intimate and giving, imparting all what’s needed,
like Christmas, a melody complete, a wish fulfilled,
and they swoon with certainty,
this pillar of society all they want
to lead them to the promised land.
Is it my rose coloured glasses that deceive,
or am I delusional to not believe these politicians,
who endow our lives with babies kissed,
sincere handshakes and glistening smiles,
that deliver us to lands of honey, proposed,
when truly what they do is hardly a scratch, a patch of truth?
How does one believe in the unbelievable,
the planned and orchestrated beguiling of numb-brained folk,
to for one minute think that a politician
can in any way deliver what is said, indeed promised,
to the poor helpless masses with but one scratch on a paper
away from oblivion?
Cynicism is not a disease, but an ultimate conclusion
when talking about politics. Sad but true.
Tony DeLorger © 2016
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