Man Standing Tall

What do they do and what are the powers,
A false looking merlin,
Master of white towers,
Pride, standing tall, looking at it all,
Watches the parties all rise and fall.
Under a queen but allowed no crown.
They all look the same in a similar ball gown.
All the looks of a cheesecake in flight,
Follows deafly to the rusted penny’s plight.
Stands first in line no matter the decline,
Stares into your eyes and says it’s all fine.

What is the face?
And endless charade,
Hoping and dreaming of the coronation parade.
First among equals,
Determines all fate:
Masters of their own militant state.
Choosing the captains, the officers and grunts,
The whole cabinet shakes under the clamour of their hunt.

Under the queen,
A messenger of sorts;
King of the children
And their hasty retorts,
To hiss and splutter,
Head of the show,
The only true silhouette,
The media knows.

The image is solid, to all foreign lands
The only true product
The face, high in demand.
Deciding the date for possible ends,
Deciding which battles the division contends.

The ball rooms glitter…
Splattered with blood.
When the pm decides, to drag their heels in the mud.
It ruins the night,
And causes to excite,
When the party goes sour,
Throwing the host from great height.

All working together on the menial gauze,
A stronger liquor to further the cause.
Managing the glasses;
Taken from the cabinet;
Takes more skill than just grabbin’ it.

A battleground set,
In the usual place.
Questions and answers thrown,
By the opponent faced.
Tactics and attacks;
To represent their house’s force.
They scream their face red
And their voices hoarse.

The arms of strength reach ever further…
In the name of defence they preach.
To defend us from harm from any invasion,
Such a canny shield that uses persuasion,
That follows the path of war!

Balancing scales to give us our rights;
The hammer of rage to counter all slights.
With eyes that see new comers as mice,
There is no warm reception just…ice.

The concrete mazes shelter only a shell.
What is under the surface is not for me to tell.
The stench it produces leaves you reeling,
With a dirty and unwashed, corrupt kind of feeling.
But for all its faults these towers still stand,
They are all we have got,
Till something new is planned.