A CYNIC'S THANKSGIVING ODE...

As the calendar turns to this day, we must pause,

And dutifully list our immense, meager cause

For "gratitude," a sentiment thin and quite frayed,

For a bountiful life that's been largely betrayed.

We sit down to turkey, a bird overcooked,

With relatives whose opinions are booked

For a lecture on matters they barely recall,

A yearly tradition of testing us all.

The cultural breakdown, the social decline,

Is merely the wallpaper, a bitter design,

That we bravely ignore for this mandated feast,

While hoping the chatter will be rapidly ceased.

Be thankful, they urge us, for comforts we hold,

Like cable-news screaming, a future quite cold.

Be grateful for freedom, to grumble and glare,

At neighbors who breathe the unfortunate air.

The scientists chirp about mindset and grace,

While plumbing the depths of this utterly base

Compulsion to smile when our spirit is low,

A hollow charade, a magnificent show.

The irony's rich, like the gravy we pour,

We gorge on abundance and still ask for more.

We cheerily gather, then whisper and frown,

As empires are shaking and tumbling down.

So, raise up your glass, not for joy but for dread,

For the things we've forgotten, the lessons unread.

Let's thank the Great Void for its merciful hand,

That soon we can flee this meticulously planned,

 Hyperbolic falsehood that graces the fall,

The day we are thankful for nothing at all...