Begonia

What value has a simple scroll,
A token of a common goal?

Though useful once they might have been,
Now nothing seems contained within.

Still promises are made in place,
If one can only those tests ace.

A ticket to a life improved,
Though in the end, one stays unmoved.

For words can only mean so much,
Can’t offer dreams and hopes to clutch.

They hand them out three times a year,
They lie and say to hold them dear.

For they will serve us well indeed,
And without them we can’t succeed.

And no one wonders, no one tries,
To see the truth amongst the lies.

We’ve long since learned to just accept,
And ourselves, remain inept.