Anesthesia

A creeping vapor insidiously
pouring into every crevice of our world,
sharing its poison generously in every passage,
anesthetizing entire populations with its

narcoleptic dumbing-down.

Submission, it whispers, and Tolerance,
giving us familiar words in NewSpeak,
treading on once deeply held values full of meaning,
with an ersatz-faith, a cult of political correctness.

Steeped in the stock pathological symptoms
of a long well established Stockholm Syndrome.
Love is foreign to it, though it abuse every word even that;
dignity as well – and sovereignty of one's word is entirely gone.

All becomes relativized, history revised, civilized
is no longer sacred, nothing may be criticized – you're scared
to think, to question, to confront; a huge front
looms before you, a foggy mass of redundant calming.

It tells you, warns you, cojoles you not to fight the power,
not to swim against the stream, not to resist the herd;
It crunches numbers and crushes you, your will to be awake,
it commericalizes, mass produces its message: and it is all fake.

Precious reader, let us stand together, even should we stand alone.
Let us never retreat, though we lose all but not our soul;
Let us become conscious, and stay that, mind and heart, breath and bone –
the sickness is clammy and dense, it can be named –
                                                            you and I must keep ourselves whole.