Salvo

Black little warriors
In transparent jackets
Some not so unclear
Yet always hidden
Wearing truth’s robe
Wolves in the herd
Biting and snapping
Frothing to the chin
Baring their fangs
To the stupid lamb
All in the surface
And writhing beneath
Sometimes dressed
All in white
Sometimes acting
Correct and wise
All dance to the tune
They hear
Of Midas singing
Growing clear
As the days pass by
Experience gained
But only of one leader
The other leaders unknown
Yet to see
Yet to encounter
Inevitable truths
Or paradoxically lies
Be prepared
Of many more
Still waiting
The wait is endless.
And here.