Today’s Machiavellian Syndrome

Upon a chameleon playscape,

green and brown-legged others

merge with branch and tree so well,

as principled existence goes unnoticed.

Beyond…

Walk other masked armies,

their harlequin façades ablaze,

burning layers of today's yesterday,

into tomorrow's today.

On trudges these costumes of deceit

some identify as today's

heroine girl,

hero boy,

girl/boy,

Barbie,

Ken,

politician,

evangelist,

and lest we forget,

the ever-present collegiate student.

All primping at mirrors,

parent-innocent they are not,

but duplicitous they are,

for deny they cannot,

as seeing and being seen by their children they want,

so as upon graduation offspring’s money to make,

more deceptive accomplishments to achieve,

jewels to flaunt,

travel to indulge,

stuff to be amassed,

and of course,

contagion-minds to plunder.

Tomorrow’s future…

Children of children

unabashedly priming another generation’s expectations

projecting their selfies of unprincipled greed

on “home movie” thirty by twenty-foot walls,

flat screen,

smart phone,

iwatches,

it doesn't matter.

Flailing platinum quaffs,

and iron-pumping biceps,

glossy pundit voices,

and religious-cross-bedecked cowards,

all charging toward the next threshold

into the grasp of more unearned trophies,

through über-sized flutes of sparkling bubbles

and red, white and yellow capsules down the gullet.

All the while…

As financial inducement twists and rips apart trust and integrity,

giving layers of pretense and fraud seemingly no end,

rendering the pancake-coverup of life's cosmetic facade

but their own private weigh station among the many

that provides but momentary respite

for fade-out's forever spurious hoorah.

Beyond it all…

The clouds,

the trees,

the births,

the deaths,

the indelible wrinkles of Time will continue their natural erosion,

gradually enjoining the vulnerable Machiavellian façades

that slip and slide beneath the nips and tucks

of Nature's grand scheme.

For even as the hot passion of lava pours,

so too its heat must wane,

as time fulfills its fossilization

of life’s petrifying disguises.