Of Ouroboros

A Criticism in Prose

Many a student are not like their peer.
Some are not far from us.
Most are just trying to make it in time,
Usually more options by bus.
Comfortably seated, when winter, heated,
Living a life that's generally repleted,
City of Theseus in view.
Panes of glass nestled between them and us, 
Sporting not much more than our shoes.
Their pasts are as varied, the mindscapes as motley,
Philosophies probing, as artistic thoughts oughta be.
Regardless, outsiders design our taxonomy,
Seeing us all as convenient economies.

Many a student bear the weight of their peer,
A variety of which locals have feared for years.
From the fear, naturally, emerged a spite,
Being subjects of a monetary power so rife:
A real estate company masquerading about,
Its army of nepos all starving for clout,
Retconning our politics to serve their own needs,
Internet ramblings replacing deeds.

Eat the rich?
You are what you eat.
What happens when your horde turns their gaze to their feet?
They surely are good people; it shows in their posts.
They've done well enough to make sure we all know.
It will never obscure the lie.
Shackles of gold linking all of our feet,
While an ivory monolith blacks out the sky.
Ensign?
A college of "art" and "design".