Pretentious Poem

Pretentious Poetry,
Pretentious Poems,
Pretentious Poets.
The snake eating
Its own tail.
Some are just myopic.
Peering peripherally,
Well, then its plain as paper.
They don their pretty clothes
- or their not so pretty clothes
Writing words
Attempting to convey
A something.
So sure of their grasp of the language.
And, to what avail?
To impress?
Impress on who, or on what?
We hide behind our words
As others – behind masks.
We profess these to be our Truths.
And confess our depths perceptions.
But is it?
Look closely?
Could it be a decoy?
No really one knows.
And – in the end,
No one cares.
The paper crumbles
- as do we all –
A grave by pauper or prince
Is still a grave.