The world seems to lean by the masses to the optical
 

And you and I are driven by the masses, too; we opt to call
 

A shade too light or skin too rough a problem that is solvable
 

And yet we miss the issue that's less easily dissolvable
 

A slew of philosophes from Locke to Hobbes to Montesquieu
 

Have thoughtfully devised a simple lock that's obstinate; we might eschew
 

The old and formless thoughts conflicting and bereft in cleverness
 

That think of man as gormless rot yet deft in his foreverness
 

Abilities to make anew the spirit of our fellow man
 

Menageries of paints and brews irradiate and smooth and tan
 

Instead we must ignore the shallow message of our cursed time
 

But what will be our lore? Perhaps it could be found in verse and rhyme.