Pompous men with secret aims
Gather in the shadows
Hoping to create some sort
Of Panacea for the masses.

One that won’t serve to curtail
Their journey on the gravy train
That stops in oh-so-many-places
To take on endless loads of moolah

All too often soaked in blood
From someone else’s children.
Trying hard to find a salve
For wounds that never heal.

Hoping to placate the mass
That thunders at the door
For just a hint of common sense
And a tiny touch of honor.

The recipe is hard to find
There’s always re-election
Pointing up the need
That overshadows all concerns.

So generate some platitudes
Write rules to be ignored.
Write laws that will not be enforced
Then pat each other on the back
And head back to the shadows.
              ljm