Cynic's Dictionary (Part 1)

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Come gather 'round and take a seat, 

A cynic’s view, both sharp and sweet. 

With biting wit and tongue so sly, 

We’ll mock the truths we live and die.

 

Oh, the world’s a stage of grand deceit, 

Where wisdom’s lost and fools compete. 

Laugh along or shake your head, 

The truth is twisted, warped, and spread.

 

Adult—a child in grown disguise, 

Pretending wise yet full of lies. 

Altruists, too, deny their game, 

Each good deed cloaked in selfish fame.

 

Busy people boast and groan, 

Chains they forged, yet call their own. 

A child? A sage with heart so free, 

Yet doomed to age and lose the key.

 

Childhood fades, replaced by rules, 

Built to shape obedient fools. 

We trade our joy for grim routine, 

And play the part of the machine.

 

Complainers start their sacred sect, 

Of gripes and groans that all connect. 

They bicker 'bout the world’s despair, 

Yet loathe the echoes in the air.

 

Good and bad—who makes the call? 

The righteous rise, the guilty fall. 

Yet villains see themselves as just, 

And every hero breaks the trust.

 

Guilt’s a weapon, sharp and sly, 

To dodge the blame and pacify. 

"See, I suffer! Spare my name!" 

The self-inflicted martyr’s game.

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Oh, the world’s a stage of grand deceit, 

Where wisdom’s lost and fools compete. 

Laugh along or shake your head, 

The truth is twisted, warped, and spread.

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See Cynic's Dictionary (Part 2)