usurper

to claim submission, to defy what is plain but money can change the story telling as long as we both seal our lips and this is machiavelli wearing roses, with a poisoned dagger aimed towards the heart of the unsuspecting crowd for what is moved is easiness, pleasure heightened, the loot can be kept because there is only grace, no justice, like the bleary eyed cat yawning at dawn, unable to catch the mice even when it is just an inch away but the belly is full, no more need to struggle. how pleasant, how comfortable, how paradise like it all is - surely this must be the life that all who seek will find, nothing is amiss. right? i mean, everyone gets what they want, the poor and underserving get trampled on when they lack ... ... faith. faith, that cannot be measured, quantified, sipped like wine, told like lies coming out of the merchant's mouth even as he makes another deceptive move. toad, frogs, serpents. they have more resemblance to a heinous clown whose face i do not see, all i hear are his laughter, when the gold is piling up. but the field is dying. faith, the joker said, they all lacked faith, till the terrible sky began to descend, for his conscience is swept clean with what money can buy. psychological stasis even when hands are wrought with the slain and more slaying. let's tell another story shall we? that those slain were all guilty: or better yet, something more lofty, i care not to shed this veil when god is dead, unmoving, uncaring isn't this all his fault? then the usurper speaks as god, for he found the throne vacant.