Spending goodwill

 

They called him “good,” though horrors hid beneath his gentle air;  
A smiling mask that cloaked crimes no conscience ought to bear.  
For monsters rarely snarl at first, nor show their teeth outright;  
They win your trust with warmth and wit before they strike at night.

Pelicot’s wife reports his charm, the humour that he showed;  
Yet it made the mask ‘neath which darker desires flowed.  
And Epstein too could dazzle rooms with wit both sharp and sly;  
Proof that the liveliest voices are the ones that most can lie.

We praise all those whose laughter flows, whose presence fills the room;  
Yet never ask what shadows trail their soporific bloom.  
The quiet souls, the awkward ones, are judged as strange or cold;  
While glittering tongues turn hot air into moral gold.

The world mistakes a friendly grin for proof of moral grace;  
But kindness is not measured by the look of someone’s face.  
The shy must walk a razor’s edge where every step is weighed;  
One slip, and they are cast aside, condemned, dismissed, betrayed.

For charm obtains what truth would not, and blinds the careless eye;  
It smooths the doubts that ought to rise, and lets deception fly.  
We trust the ones who make us glow, who soothe us with their tone;  
Yet goodness shows in how one acts if all the charm is gone.

The politician’s practiced smile, the salesman’s honeyed line—  
We fall for warmth, and never see the rot beneath the shine.  
If instinct bowed to principle, if thought replaced desire,  
We’d judge by deeds, not pleasant words that set our hearts on fire.

So look beyond the instant glow that makes a stranger seem  
A friend, a hope, a guiding light, a hero in a dream.  
Let charm be not the measure of the worth we think we see;  
For only deeds, not pleasantries, define morality.