The Spirit of Deception
The spirit of deception,
Weaves a sticky web,
Through the minds of multitudes,
Through dream-pavillions and waking life,
Through the evanescent passageways,
Of fallen time and lost creation,
Aye, it is a woeful and insidious emanation,
Delivered to my person by gnarled, black hands!
Paranoia arrives as though by osmosis,
With the flesh twitching,
The muscles flinching,
My cherished good humour is souring,
Like curdled milk,
My prize possession, my love,
Is somehow burnished and beaten,
And progressively deprecated,
To the semblance of fear.
Oh how I baulk at its unrecognisable guise!
Dependency in my eyes!
Who did this to me, my mute demand.
Wherefore my sobriety?
Wherefore my peace?
Wherefore my strength?
The spirit of deception has captured my love,
And replaced it with escalating ill-humour,
It would seem the castle of my life,
Is jettisoned to sinking sand,
And the sun I thought cheery,
Is but an arbiter of new sorrows…
