A Valentine's Day storm of lead
Has rendered Reeva Steenkamp dead.
Oscar's pissed on all of us
And yet his fans still make a fuss
Of a man you'd think they'd curse.
The details are yet to come out,
Yet Oscar's fans jump up and shout
His innocence to all who'll hear
Which fills me with a dismal fear
That he'll cheat justice with some lie.
The new cult of celebrity
Has left some cold including me,
We'd rather have equality
Before the law, to set us free.
Reason has been quite displaced
In thoughts of half the human race
By cults of personality
Or even of brand loyalty.
The modern world is so perverse
A twittering land of meaning lost
Soundbite or devious comment terse
Have replaced deep deliberation,
For which we'll pay a dreadful cost
In a weakened civilisation.
Disgusted by the news of Oscar's fans all rallying round him, persuaded by a story planted on the Internet, possibly before Ms Steenkamp was even dead.