Sunday, May 4

A Dying Breed

A dying breed, the ones who know
They do not see the emperor’s clothes,

And if to sophistry we turn,
We doom ourselves to never learn.

Yet still there is a charm in tales
We tell ourselves, so lies prevail.

When our reflections don't align
It is our eyes we redesign,

While our perceptions large distend
And we continue to pretend.

I too am guilty, for I find
Dissembling to be so kind.

Forever naked we will roam 
For such delusions find no home.

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