The Fall of the Charlatan

Under a gray sky,

The pretender stands,

Bowing to self generated,

Accolades of masses,

Existing solely in his,

Fevered imagination.

A self proclaimed,

Wizard of word and deed,

Surrounded by shamans of,

Debunked philosophies,

Holding flawed mirrors,

To reflect flawed traits.

Thus the charlatan,

Raising from bankrupt,

Moral fabric shows,

The nature of lies,

Poorly hidden beneath,

Fake gilded robes.

Surrounded by only,

That he wishes to hear,

He is deaf to truths,

Shouted by the masses,

He swears to serve,

And ever heed.

His helm of gilded,

Paper shows wear,

And is arranged to,

Cover the sparse,

Pate so as to fool,

Only himself.

What is the fate,

Of this charlatan?

Certainly same as all,

Those before him,

Unfulfilled promises lead,

To dire consequences.

But like his ilk,

He will not heed,

till at last the,

True magic – the people,

Remove and destroy again,

The charlatan.

©2017 Carl Erickson