Teachers the Merchants

the Fount of knowledge, a point of growledge,
the source of guidance, a spec in darkness; 
the shine twofoldly gleaming the doubled mind
a mentor in this misty fog, now too misty to find!
 
A perfect mind in an
immaculate heart of an
accurate form is a
concept not conforming!

Letters and Words, pages and leafs
smoothly order the apprentices to sniff the seeds; 
but, a relish so brief that wilts all the greens.

Listen to the truth that smarts,
Of the ploys, the pits and their Arts!

Teachers, the Merchants, sell the Smith's goods,
peddle their creations by hook or crook.

Earning the labour for telling a crafty story
to make us believe to buy the story.

All they know is the art of becoming 
the rest they know is called cunning

Costly and comely the deception 
in devastating dress of perception 

every time they wear it, we know it.
Hail to the teacher who comes naked!

Earnestly, I of the cunning dress speak
the dress with no garb, better than a chaotic cloth.

Real Merchants sell the goods and know the story,
unlike empty speakers of the  Smith's myth,
who shape their apprentices to be the Smith,
to create not just the goods, but to create the truth.

Sad it is to find the mystery
that exists in the Smith’s myth.
Like that unaccompanied mentor;
that exists like a mist amidst a mist!