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Plague of Buffoons
© November 12, 2008, Roy Stucky

Each day as experience gains a new rung
The taste of hot iron seems to grow on my tongue.
The drama unfolds like a rune relief map.
I feel we will soon see the shape of the trap.

A plague of buffoons are allowed to run loose.
To follow their lead is like wearing a noose.
Their mockery manners impress the raw youth
To sneer at the mention of genuine Truth.

You'd think that adults would see through the charade
But years seem to leave them asleep in the shade.
The soul we abandon for concrete and steel
Is all we've been given that's actually real.

A plague of buffoons are allowed to run loose.
They're experts of retail in mental abuse.
Our pride makes the wisest man easy to fool.
Ideas are sparks that await the right fuel.

The culture I once knew has been the target of attack.
The scars ensure such innocence is never coming back.
But man's intent is moderate compared to hatred's prince
Who seeks to bring destruction on the souls he can convince
To spurn reward,
To turn their sword
Against the Lord.

A plague of buffoons has infested our towns.
The paint and the pageant can't hide bitter frowns.
They look like cartoons on a gas chamber gate.
One learns what is true once the lesson's too late.

 


In the sense related to French bouffons, the malformed who during festivals entertained the normal people as Quasimodo did in Hugo's Hunchback novel. Their dialog was bitter and mocking.