The plan itself-long forgotten-
was working, as every prediction
foretold
by the last of the learned.
It had been lifetimes-
long gone,
when it was learned by the rest(ing),
the dangers of knowing
too much
for thin soles to carry
comfortably.
Human touch was not the trick,
the magician preferred to work with
shiny wheels, hats, cards, cups and wands
Invoking smiles as he deftly slices
attention, willing volunteers and words.
The spell lost in translation, a dead
language
slang-shot not toward penetration, but
babbled by barbarians-again.
This entertains, now this-now and
never remembered-
None heard the chorus
of the sheeple's song before
nor sang along anymore-
Now it sounded silly
and coincidental,
entertaining and easy
to follow along.
Now, all hands-free.
What has been taken away
by sleight of hand, was never missed
soon enough-
none will understand
a word, meaning-wise.
Painting by Thomas Gainsborough (c. 1773-1777) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
