Cry Wolf - a poem

On other side of door is entrance to an unpredictable prize
one that smells like, looks like, and must be like, for indescribable
is medicinal way to conduct user to interface
with prizes that they might not want to take.

That it is like such and such, and we should recognize
indeterminate methods that might pinpoint this problem
to a select place among rabble that demands prize money
be commissioned out and on time for whoever so demands
it.

On other side of doors is answer to age old questions,
such as that, such as this, such as those, or these
and we as a people are predictable in our conceit
that we do not care to listen to reasonable words
but would rather attack with rash panic.

That is answer that must be catered to, select meats
to feed masses, but littered with political rat poisons
and zeitgeist meandering, and pandering to views that reflect
deepest fears, and worries that might filter out of mind
as osmosis might do in symbiotic assortments of cellular bypass.

On other side of door is another door, and another door, and,
and, and,

nothing, obliviousness, as sky is falling,
we are all chicken little.