DECAY
The middle man is image
Not a man.
And now you're bound in thought
Without a fire.
Change the charge
The iron-filings fly;
The verbal whirld of lies
Will fade from view.
Many say that words are never true.
Referring to mis-use
They fade from view.
The miracle not seen,
They rave of "highs";
The startling shock
Is seeing that we are.
The enemy is fossilised desire,
Organised
To keep the heart
From fire.
The middle-man is a process
Which you choose,
Instead of looking through
To what is here.
Authorities without your thought
Would stare;
Attacking with the past
Is how they rape.
The middle-man is hungry
For your core;
His reel of rules within you
Teach escape;
The fear of travelling past them
Holds your core;
The moon within the sea
Eats up the shape.
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