That Superficial Sniper
He snaps his fingers with such authority
That minions are impressed and duly cower
And although one day they may hope to overpower
For now, they bow to his seniority.
He flicks his hand with such panache
That slaves obey his every beck and call
But really, when you think about it, overall
It's not cachet he has, but cash
He bows his head so rarely now
That some suspect his power has gone too far
His eyes, fixed on a distant star
Are glassy now and cold, the god of Tao
| Contributors: | N, F, will, Ethetran, Tembrel, e. |
| Poem finished: | 23rd September 2003. |