The Way It Is

The way it is
From a day to day,
Like an epiglottis
In society's cliche;
How all things goes
From hours coming,
Unawareness knows
To pieces bottoming.

The way it was
To the past gone,
Years in natural cause
From the tidings spawn;
How it's made to last
Build into a plastic,
And to be aghast
In its way bombastic.

What is art and not
When the cloths fall off,
And the snobberies plot
Shows its way and doff;
How it's made too bare
The rustic fallen deceives,
And nobody is there
To take in false believes.