The Candidate

He speaks with charisma and style He portrays a commendable role His words seek to charm and beguile But who should we really control? His words lift the beat of our hearts We listen with passions on fire, He taps into that very part That leads us to bow and admire. But his make up comes off in the night In back rooms devoted to schemes That seek to convince us he’s right. For the next day he rises and gleams. The façade is but glad wrap of fame It clings to a surface of shame, It masks every pock mark and crack It is hard to see past the tack. We see through the eyes in our skull. Not through the eyes deep within. By the time the façade starts to dull We are lost; for deceit is what wins. The candidate primps in his cloak; He is hoist with a self made petard Mark well how he carries the yoke. It is us who will find the way hard.