Dissociation.
In the beginning,
It gives you a perception,
Of an Association,
This Association They call it,
And like a mighty chorus They chant in the streets,
Full of triumph,
Full of pride,
And full of Illusions of This Association.
Seasons pass,
The poor soul,
Trapped by the illusion,
Becomes blind at the sight of a crippled demise.
Devoting himself to This Association,
Everything else falls behind,
As They continue to parade,
Continue to feed Him with sweet subtle poison.
In His veins,
The poison seeps,
And in final a final stroke,
He falls to Their sweet possesion.
Misted by sweetness,
Of malted falls and beautiful endings,
He swears allegiance to This Assiociation.
In hooting Glory,
They know, They have him.
The parades stop,
The trumpets fade into the misty distance.
It is time.
Coaxed by sympathy,
He pours out to Them,
Silver, gold, even His soul.
Taking all in with suppressed glee,
A face they show,
A pitying fool,
Yet another shows,
Savages, taking, stealing but never returning.
And then,
A turn, its dawn, They're gone,
Fled over the mountains,
Gone under the sea.
He stands there and looks,
Not much in shock, or stunned silence,
But of deep hurt, silence and misery.
How a fool He had been!
To have tangled himself with This Association in the start.
But naught can be done,
The knife stabbed, the culprits in a distance.
So as He drags off alone,
Into the blood red sunset,
It would seem that This Association,
With all its perceptions and tainted illusions,
Was a mere nothing more than
A Dis-sociation.
-Josh. 10/06.
post by joshua at 10:46 PM (x)