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The Self-Serving Saint
Expressive explication clears the muddled thoughts of the closed minded, self-serving saint,
A victim of delusions drenched in artificial applause and posthumous praise.
A soap box high enough to hear is tall enough to tumble
With a crash that makes the heavens rumble and the concrete pillars crumble
Under the weight of those more humble.
The Truth, while bold, is lost in layers if spun by those whose tongues drip gold,
And wash their words in streams of satin, smooth and sheer.
Instead, affluence succeeds emptiness when belligerent barriers
Are broken for the sake of certainty.
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