The Process

Braced against the grip of choices

Memories of the gentle ways

Stained by a thousand voices

Yearning for a shaft of light

Catergorized

And labeled an affliction

Delivered naked into this world

Dehumanized

And cast down

From the savage grip of the process

This is not some kind of holy vision

Holding back a great dogmatic tide

Rinsed clean of servile derision

Gaining passage to the other side