Far-Fetched Mumpsimus
In the house of ill repute, there is a grotesque art piece beside the table. Eclectic music plays, bohemian people gather in luncheon for one reason....
Tales once surreptitious now stand perceptible within our demesne.
A reminiscence of bygone dark politics remains obdurate, dogmatic, and mumpsimus—an indicative of the same cyclical decay.
Those once deemed taboo now await serendipity—plotting beneath the Sword of Damocles.
Alas, there is no panacea for this exponential tide of mendacious stewards—we proclaimed theme for the people.
When money speaks, it speaks precariously,
instigating high brow circumlocutory dulcet persuasion for the budget, not for the outcome—but a dearth, an aberration that renders fertile land barren.
Commensurate with who they truly are, they aggrandize their malfeasance
through the power they possess—a power destined to plummet into dusk,
to meet its inevitable sunset.
Only a pensive legacy shall remain in their posterity—a perplexed burden of cumbersome rhetoric—where every word they uttered becomes far-fetched—the bitter fruit of vulpine sagacity.
Abbevangel
#CEFR #C1 #C2