Whom the Cap Fits

He appeared an outright sensation,
a wizard to slow-thinking minds,
Like a stimulant releasing frustration
that tradition had cloaked over time
With excuses and reasons for inaction
to stifle new ways to perceive,
He arose, a bright light in the darkness,
the bouquet of wine when it breathes
With the promise a taste of divine-ness,
that lingers like love on a sleeve.
His coming was a comet exploding
pumping vigour through fossilised minds,
sweeping over the hesitant and cautious
planting seeds that awoke in good time.

The young things flocked to his banner,
Slight thinkers attracted to light,
Fooled by his sprightly manner
They flocked like moths in the night,
Confused by a whirlwind they gathered
Invoking his speeches as truth
But a fine wine spilled leaves a bottle
Nothing but dregs left forsooth,
Without petrol what use is a throttle
without hope what voices speak truth?

He’s gone..where’d he go? was the cry,
Unanswered by that shimmering phantom
Who promised though the well had run dry
That everyone’s looks would be handsome
That pure gold would fall from the sky.
No hope for the lost or the lonely
No free lunch when you sat down to dine
You dreamed of diamonds but you’re only
Washed up in the alluvium of time.

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