12h
They strut on stilts through shifting sand,
With spectacles of top name brand,
Each cap a crown, each shoe a throne
Postcodes etched in polished stone.
They sip from cups of gilded flair,
And toast to titles they declare,
While whispering, “I’m more than you,”
Because their tie is navy blue.
Value gauged in vehicle worth,
In marble sinks and stomach girth,
In schools that teach deportment pride,
And gates that keep the poor outside.
Taught to climb the social stair,
To find there's little waiting there
But mirrors framed in empty gold,
Reflecting youth that’s growing old.
They name-drop Gods and CEOs,
Wear virtue stitched in tailored clothes,
Speak in tongues of cultured grace,
While tripping on their own shoelace.
They build their thrones on shifting trends,
And call their rivals “former friends,”
Then post a smile, rehearsed and bright,
To prove their faces bathed in light.
In Kyoto’s hush, the bow is deep,
The high-born dine while low-born sweep,
No mingling here the ranks are sealed,
Each gesture weighed, each truth annealed.
In London clubs, the laughter’s staged,
Where accents mark the class engaged,
A vowel misplaced, and doors are shut
The butler knows when “ifs” are “buts.”
And deep beneath this human play,
The granite dreams in slow decay,
It does not care for suits or fame,
It only knows its molten name.
But lo! The stars don’t care for rank,
Nor rivers pause for titled bank,
The earth rolls on, absurdly wise,
While man performs his grand disguise.
So laugh, dear friend, at pomp and fuss,
At all the noise that isn’t us
For in the end, the truth unfurled:
We’re specks that dream we own the world.
M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
4 October 2025
With spectacles of top name brand,
Each cap a crown, each shoe a throne
Postcodes etched in polished stone.
They sip from cups of gilded flair,
And toast to titles they declare,
While whispering, “I’m more than you,”
Because their tie is navy blue.
Value gauged in vehicle worth,
In marble sinks and stomach girth,
In schools that teach deportment pride,
And gates that keep the poor outside.
Taught to climb the social stair,
To find there's little waiting there
But mirrors framed in empty gold,
Reflecting youth that’s growing old.
They name-drop Gods and CEOs,
Wear virtue stitched in tailored clothes,
Speak in tongues of cultured grace,
While tripping on their own shoelace.
They build their thrones on shifting trends,
And call their rivals “former friends,”
Then post a smile, rehearsed and bright,
To prove their faces bathed in light.
In Kyoto’s hush, the bow is deep,
The high-born dine while low-born sweep,
No mingling here the ranks are sealed,
Each gesture weighed, each truth annealed.
In London clubs, the laughter’s staged,
Where accents mark the class engaged,
A vowel misplaced, and doors are shut
The butler knows when “ifs” are “buts.”
And deep beneath this human play,
The granite dreams in slow decay,
It does not care for suits or fame,
It only knows its molten name.
But lo! The stars don’t care for rank,
Nor rivers pause for titled bank,
The earth rolls on, absurdly wise,
While man performs his grand disguise.
So laugh, dear friend, at pomp and fuss,
At all the noise that isn’t us
For in the end, the truth unfurled:
We’re specks that dream we own the world.
M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
4 October 2025
Across these cultures, the markers shift—sometimes it’s lineage, sometimes language, sometimes the car you drive or the school you attended. But the underlying question remains: Who gets to belong?
And perhaps the deeper inquiry is not just about mixing, but about transcending. Can one’s character, creativity, or contribution ever outweigh inherited status? Or are we all, in some way, performing acceptability to gain entry into rooms we were never meant to enter?
.
“Cult” implies blind devotion, an absurd reverence people show toward status symbols and social hierarchy, whilst “Class” is both literal and metaphorical: economic strata, social performance, inherited privilege, where the invisible codes that govern belonging and worth... are worshipped, not earned!.
M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
And perhaps the deeper inquiry is not just about mixing, but about transcending. Can one’s character, creativity, or contribution ever outweigh inherited status? Or are we all, in some way, performing acceptability to gain entry into rooms we were never meant to enter?
.
“Cult” implies blind devotion, an absurd reverence people show toward status symbols and social hierarchy, whilst “Class” is both literal and metaphorical: economic strata, social performance, inherited privilege, where the invisible codes that govern belonging and worth... are worshipped, not earned!.
M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
