Unconscious
 

The Jung one, young one.

The unsung personality mover, guiding the mind of man
While The non-individuated stay blinded by slight-of-hand
This is the Fight we planned.
Archetypal revival disciple, symbolically the sphinx’s sand
Sleep for a span, awake, then weep for the modern man
Afraid to confront the thought stream, denying the principle thing
That’s why in the land of anosognosia, self-awareness is king
The trumpets of battle sing.
My muse is insight, aimed at the abuse neuroses bring
Expose the holes through prose, metaphor: Taking you under my wing
The inkwell is full, the fountain pen exploded
Taking shots at the ego, the Revolver is loaded
The enemy is now goaded.
This is all the lines of Dead Man’s they quoted
Amazed at the ability of feelings emoted
So blow up your floaties and flay in the deep end for as long as you can stand it
You can’t force it though, it has to be organic
The ship needs a captain to span it.
In closing, the thought stream is either your faithful friend or a bandit
And if it is the latter, then you repressed and canned it.

V

I liked it. Definitely a lot cleaner then your old style.

Go feed my stuff.

this is better