Here on my mountain
With magnificent view,
I can look far below with disdain
At all of the plebs beneath me;
All those who, for me, have no name.
Smiling with sweet condescension,
A patronising nod to their need.
I sit in the lap of the gods;
On ambrosia and nectar we feed.
Such rich repast would merely confuse
The illiterate palate below.
Throw them a little education,
But obscure it so they really won’t know.
Blind them with science
Ensure inaccessible form.
Return to elite education.
Keep lack of knowledge the norm.
Buy them a pint and a promise,
Pretend you’re impressed with their ways,
Retire to your fort in the forest above
And damn them with faintest of praise.
This human nature,
With aim so select,
Denies the purpose of word,
Ponders and bewails the glorious arcane;
Guards enlightenment with sword.
Only for some;
And then, just a few.
Greek and Latin observe.
Shakespeare is king
And there’s only one way
For educated man to serve.
We serve the word
And the word serves us.
Creativity has many faces.
Elitist snobs with distorted views
Divide all people and races.
Your mountain view, though elevated,
Sees only distant truth.
Partial disclosure is really a lie.
Effete snobbery, uncouth.