Simply words would oft suffice
But he churns out through a hefty tome
What warrants a synopsis
Is laboured, pious, overblown
He takes a single statement
And embellishes until
The room is filled with silent looks
And confusion fits the bill
He considers him a wordsmith
But instead, he forges ahead
With abandoned repetition
Repetition, repetition, repetition
To perpetuate the suspicion
He’s remarkably well read
But with all this perceived wisdom
With which he is adorned and endowed
He lacks the basic gift
To simply read the crowd
8th July 2021
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