Offices of State

The offices of State
Mean little to the great.
They sweep them right away,
As though they were at play;
Or rearrange with ease
to whatever form they please,
Rebuilding round some grand new plan,
Just because they can.

Centuries of tradition
Are consigned to swift perdition.
To have regard for merit,
Is not the ruling spirit.
What matters is to make one's mark,
Even when groping in the dark
Of ignorant incomprehension.
Knowledge rarely rates a mention.

Egos reign triumphant,
Ideology's only cant.
When power men pick their side,
Their real views slink and hide.
Ambition is their one true passion,
Their loyalty is based on fashion.
Truth's dispensed in a slim ration,
To a frequently misled nation.

On a similar theme: Sanity and Insanity