In the realm of power where shadows cast
Elitism thrives in a hierarchy vast,
An aristocratic pride, both cold and fast,
Where contempt for the weak is held steadfast.
In Ur-Fascism’s fold, a popular guise,
Where every citizen is deemed wise,
Part of the best in the world’s grand prize,
Yet patricians are born from plebeian ties.
The Leader, a force seized, not given free,
Knows his power's root in massed fragility,
A ruler forged from the populace’s plea,
In a world where strength is born from weakness’ plea.
Hierarchies rise, like a militaristic spire,
Where each leader’s gaze is sharp and dire,
Despising those beneath, fueled by their ire,
In a cycle of elitism’s cruel quagmire.
The masses, weak, are both revered and scorned,
In a twisted dance where the leader is adorned,
Yet in their weakness, their need is forlorn,
To serve a power that keeps them torn.
Thus, in this theater of hierarchical might,
Elitism feeds on the masses’ plight,
Each level a stage in a darkened night,
Where strength is a shadow, and power’s light. RC