The Old Man Behind the Court House

When the decission making of company administrators is tainted and flawed the weight and burden of consequence flows down hill and made the responsibility of the little man at the bottom. The inattention to the effect that this has on those at the bottom who support the system and truly make the company, service, agency, etc what it is, eventually collapses and everyone loses. It is amazing to me that even the most successful companies do not recognize this and furthermore, reward those that are at the root of the problem. This is a tribute to the phenomenon of "what goes around, comes around" and to the little guy at the bottom that will one day help it happen.


There was and old man who sat upon a hill
Up behind the court to the left, if you will
He stood straight, a charismatic fool, so nice
Thousands gathered to listen to his ample advice
And his little faction, a right little clique they were
Sucked from his means, his weight, his word
They giggled and laughed and scorned from above
At the throne, they hunted and gurgled in love
Stood hard beside the man on the hill
As no one could touch him, or them, if you will

But below, a foundation splintering and cracked
Holding the weight of deceit and all that they lacked
Helpless to move him, it knew him callous and cold
A party to corruption, deception, greed and gold
For years and years and months and days more
A buttress grown weary of being his whore
One fragment at a time, falling slowly away
Then the rain came and night came of day
And the man, he didn’t notice that he was to fall
That is indifference was to destroy them all

He didn’t flower the garden that perfumed his space
He spoiled the wrong rotten and spit in rights’ face
So full of himself, his deeds, his scholarly grace
Slowly and surely that which held him, sank deeply down
The very fabric that walled him, and kept his crown
Lost all capacity to hold him high, at this time, now
Those that sought him out to heal their walking wounds
Those that consulted him to contemplate, consider, and muse
Why did he fold his buttress, his foundation, his ground?
Why did he offer no reinforcement when it fell deeply down
What did he profit in his ignorance and dispassion now?

There was and old man who sat upon a hill
Up behind the court, to the left, if you will
He repulsively spills out, “I did all that I could”,
“I did this and that and the other, all that I should”
And those that came to him for his scholarly advice
Slowly and surely decided, he was not nice
It profited them more to look the other way, he fell
And his self absorbed clique he held, oh well
They could not use him anymore it seemed now
And the old man is no more, no way, no how.