A large crooning figure approaches,
A deepening, booming voice, it lurches,
Upon optimism it encroaches,
And maims it with a rush of soldiers.

The cynic has arrived to reign,
To block out consenting voices,
Bringing scrutiny, caution, both too keen,
to discern the line between two-pronged choices.

Time passes, Slow but sure,
No wars was fought, no victories won.
The cynic thinks this is the cure,
For optimism is tired and gone.

In the distance another threat looms,
It entices, it tempts and seduces,
It holds its breath and waits to bloom,
And slowly sets its pieces.

The unseen hunter stalks in silence,
To the unwitting, a fleeting spectre.
Not one sharp enough to feel his presence,
And soon he will rule with its sceptre.

Upon the cynic, The addict emerges,
First as a friend, then as desire.
And as the cynic falls to his urges,
So does his Kingdom, under fire.

The Addict has come to rule,
A new era has come to fruition.
Its identity remains a dual,
It strides with vague ambition.

The Kingdom now bows, submissive,
The addict smiles, its intentions, cryptic.
Yet citizens seem hardly pensive,
Is he an altruist or simply, Apocalyptic?

Upon the throne The cynic ascends,
enveloping it with its vague shape.
It thinks its high time to make amends,
And conspires mysteriously under his hooded cape.

Inspired by current events :)