Life, you sly fox,
Like a magician
You create these wondrous delusions.
And can the gaping audience
really be blamed for falling
for every one of your tricks?
Or are we the fools
who laugh and clap
at our own foolishness,
and who pay for being deluded?
What if we choose to opt out,
and wait in the dark outside the hall,
Bundled against the biting cold,
and bitterly contemplate the farce?
Which is better:
A cynic’s truth or a fool’s wonder?
P.S. This was written in an extremely cynical mood.
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