Mirrors.

Melt away, mask, conceptual
blend, nothing more than
whatever they say,
Truth in desperation, segregation
enhanced by degrees, or so
the games they play,

Entranced, lost in the sway, 'come
this way,' the hands they grope, but
what do they really say?
Electroshock the system into compliance,
again with those games they
play,
Into the forray, clueless little drone,
shades of gray to hide away the seeds
they've sown,
Hazed, dazed, alone...
-END-
(C) D.C. Chapman
7/28/2015