A word of caution, my friend
by Rod Mendieta
For it pains me so to see you
Raising castles with flimsy sticks
And fanning the flames of hope
With stunted, featherless wings.
Hardly a grain of true knowledge
In your hallowed books and
Exalted masters, and their promised
Golden keys to Pearly Gates
Will most likely have you going round
Striving for that elusive merit,
Chasing after your own tail.
For their obscure cabal hides in shadows
And toils not after Knowledge
But Power instead, and such commodity
(It's always been so…) is best accrued
By jealously piling greedy stocks of
True and priceless information
In dark uncharted vaults
Only to regale honest seekers, like you,
With hollow rituals and airy dogma.