I step forward to nostalgic realms breached by ivory fingertips
transported by a demon calling my name in an angelic song
driving me towards synergistic levels of anarchistic mayhem.
I am crossing voids that reach through the tornados of time,
twisting the roads of my life.
Paintings of melted images hang before my eyes
and a black magic voice chants on the breeze.
The scenery blurs and Tantric creatures arrive
crawling and slipping into the valley.
The hills begin to moan, the ground begins to shake,
pieces fall away and I purge, into a gulf of skylights
weightless and free, with no judgment or holds.
I am in control!
Forth-ward I move into a world of my design.
The terrain is heavy beneath my feet and I run,
the creator of all things surviving in this life
spanned with a tribe of trials and tribulations.
I hear the wailing mothers on their knees
their penitent screams to understand why.
I hear the wails.
I hear the wails screaming.
I hear the whales singing.
I hear the song of whales
as mothers weeping in slow motion
and beaching themselves to their ends.
Buddhists ignite fires of protest against the sons of man
fighting and thriving in this satellite.
A virus, breeding pollutions of ignorant ideas
by nations of space monkeys
covering see no, speak no and hear no…
while pointing fingers at the evil around them.
By morning the red sun rises, dripping from
the blood of oppression spilling every night.
We are out of words and coming to our end.
The road warriors are scrambling brains
with trails blazing into a supernova sunset.
Living is a slow burn on a short fuse
awaiting the last blast in the quiet alone
where deaf ears hear only ignorance
closed to the knowledge of the final ‘gasm of life.