Mr Obstruction - 2011/06/18

All around elegant spires rise
A lovely sight for hungry eyes
Yet here we toil in the shanty
On scraps as others up the ante
We seem incapable of realizing
That the world is not revising
Reality staring us in the face
We will soon die in this place

Mr Obstruction crafts a vision
Lacking any logic or precision
He points a sword at windmills
While settling for sad thrills
He does not accept differences
In this fight to subdue senses
For the altar at which we pray
Is built by what games we play

I recall the multitude of times
Being driven by the wind chimes
For my effort to exceed concern
Only to quit slashed and burned
As he sits on the throne ruling
Leading a group of the drooling
I now stay confined to quarters
For my vision has no supporters

So I congratulate Mr Obstruction
On his so successful destruction
Via a note that will not be sent
As he cannot admit it and repent
Instead revising history to show
There is progress on the plateau
Upon which we reside and stumble
While it continues to so crumble

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