Paper Empire

Within halls cramped by clipped ambition,
bureaucrats sit, eyes sharp as ledger lines,
hands ink-stained with control,
writing edicts that bind more than guide.

They craft a cage of rules so dense
the air itself forgets how to move.

Above, beneath grand, hollow titles,
buffoons prance, adorned in robes
too weighty for their borrowed backs.
Clowns cloaked in authority,
they mimic tyranny with pomp,
yet nod like marionettes,
strings held tight in the bureaucrats’ grip.

These puppets speak in proclamations,
words gilded with empty pride,
smiles stretched to fit a mold,
servants disguised as sovereigns,
their power a ruse that serves
the true rulers in hidden offices,
where decisions are made
with the snap of fingers,
far from any watchful eyes.

Ceremonies proceed in grandish halls,
where the air is thick with compliance,
applause as choreographed as the speeches.

All others watch, silent and sidelined—
professors bound by duty, voices stifled,
as students, pampered, blind to decay,
have whims indulged, standards abandoned,
and knowledge reduced to a transaction.

When the overworked dare to speak,
echoes of grievance rise and fall,
met with dismissive smiles,
a whispered let them eat cake
from those who forget too easily,
ignore, or convince themselves
that such fates are reserved for others—
what befell the queen
when deaf ears met a starving crowd.

Beneath polished floors and sealed ledgers,
unrest simmers, roots pressing up
through cracks unseen,
a murmur growing,
the shiver before the fall,
the echo of footsteps on marble
pausing, as shadows stretch
longer than they should.

The clowns laugh, toast, and bow,
echoing the power they pretend to wield,
their polished grins concealing
the fractures running deep beneath.
Whispers in the corridors speak
a truth they will not hear,
the shuffle of papers hiding nothing,
just dust waiting to rise,
the tick of time tapping louder,
a heartbeat they cannot quiet.

The bureaucrats' empire stands small,
a fortress of paper walls,
guarded by silence and routine,
fearing the storm outside
that hums with life.

For all their orders and compliance,
they cannot bind time,
and when their edifice falls,
the echoes of unspoken voices
will be louder than any decree.
And all shall see what lay behind,
why they clung to power so fiercely,
what secrets they buried deep—
whether it was mere pride
or something more sinister.

Let us hope the bones of this place
can survive the damage they have done,
weather the decay, and rise again,
untethered from their shadowed rule.