Thoughts Upon Style and Substance

[Erthona]

.

Slink forth not, oh vile deceit,
from babes to old, you steal their meat.
Pretend not to a worthy be,
let all the world the truth to see,
Conciliatory does defile,
when done with grace and form and style.
What lacking you? Just skin and bones,
and muscle too, no mouth to groan.
No blood does pump within your veins,
but you lack not to fill your train,
a ready place for all the weak,
for those who slouch, for those who sneak.

For all the victims of the world,
pay them off with spinning whorls,
and keep them there imprisoned deep,
beneath this old and moldy keep,
far better yet that they are blinded,
than learn themselves the truth behind it.
Within you lack the substance most.
You take from saints, the holy host,
to hide your superficial game,
say “all is one, and all the same”,
and cloth yourself with style and grace,
an empty smile upon your face.