Bejeweled, the peacock in her feathery glory,
Enchants each passerby to tell her story.
Her way with words, allures them all,
She gleams with pride; she stands tall.

A woodpecker, wears its crimson crown,
Its artistry turns down a frown.
Builds his home, upon a log,
Persists through rain or fog.

Peacock teaches the woodpecker its wicked game,
Gives the woodpecker a taste of fame.
Woodpecker works day and night,
Threatens the peacock, gives her a fright.

The woodpecker, praised for his newfound grace,
Notices the peacock, disdain on her face.
He asks her softly  , the cause of her dismay,
Her voice cold and dead, begins to say.

“Your craft is weak, yet you think it’s great?
You still have time, it’s not to late.
If I see it again, it'll drive me mad,
Oh, honey! Its the truth, aren’t they all bad?”

Woodpecker stunned, as she keeps saying more,
Feels his crown fall on the floor.
With care for his pride,
He ponders and delves into a stride.

He says-
“Insecurity buried deep—that’s fine.
But why must you extinguish your friends’ shine.”
Speaking less but saying more,
He flies off to a better shore.

I find your words to be empty.
Much like collectible ornate journals
lined up on a shelf.
Stunning to behold.
Carrying the weight of so much
promise and potential,
but of no substance.
I find myself choking
on the dust between
the pages of words
you never mean.

I placed my faith within your hands,
each promise carved in sacred stone.
Yet time has turned them into sand,
and now I stand here, lost, alone.

You spoke in silk, in honeyed air,
but all your words were woven lies.
A dagger laced with love and care,
hidden well behind your eyes.

I stitched the wounds, I bit my tongue,
still tasting rust, still breathing ache.
Some ghosts may haunt, but you, my love,
you chose to watch me break.

hear me out, I have a plan,
increase profits while investing
as little as we possibly can
we’ll create an image of them and call it “success”
to give an image of their life prospects

create a worldwide obsession
with this thing
we’ll call it “money”
while giving it to nobody

ask their children what they want to be
make productivity be their life expectancy
the established illusion of worth in gold
that's what they'll be told

we know of basic human needs
we’ll enforce a new one
the need of greed
we'll start with banks
ideas of worth beyond a number
and that's where we will build this power

we’ll have struggles remain to keep the profit
have to keep them on their toes
keep them suffering to work this hard for nothing
we’ll decrease the risk of profit loss
just take their space for genuine thought

curiosity creativity new ideas
required for innovation or solution
but we must prevent the risk of them
climbing out of desperation
we’ll keep them busier than ever
no time for self, expression
then give them   j u s t   a hint of having life
be easier through efficiency of trickery

here, use this tool for the sense of creation
instead of painting, do computer visualisation
inner-most dreams an instant donation
provide relief in the trusting belief
that data collection won’t make them bleed
until we know their every thought
replace them through devices they bought

the computer program of information recycler
have them put the information of their lives there
self-improvement program grows to know
be better than them at building growth
we have their minds replaceable
have them learn to feel incapable
we keep this plan from falling apart
through the simple act of having them
devalue their own art

we’ll create this system for communication
interaction instant gratification
with price tags make the image of enough
to portray they’ll pay just buy enough stuff
the image they help to spread
like catching lullabies
to help them fall to sleep
they’ll spend their years avoiding fears
of creating less than perfect portrayal
we’ll take real away make them crave
creating ads with pictures of self, betrayal

for power over their perception
that they can’t see or take part in
the currency through algorithm
meant for us alone
overpowered mind control
control over their lives
paid for by the companies
wanting in on changing minds to hives

what then is the point, they’ll wonder
murmuring through illusioned slumber

we’ll show them that there are exceptions
motivating using tales of hope
disguise it all as piles of gold

we know of basic human urges
we’ll play the limits through diversions
game of myth
hush
whispers
of salvation
because
“surely there is a way”
“if I keep working hard”
“if I have hope I will prevail”

the reward for lifetime servitude
we promise them aging life
end-of-life rescue

they’ll blame themselves
for all their curses
as we take away
their caring nurses

after just a few years
creating the fears
of everyone else on earth
we will finally rule reality
at long last we’ll own their worth

the fear of age and the fear of death
will be cured through dying breaths
basic driving forces and human urges
now in power
over all their lives through
the contents of their knockoff purses