one can’t get to that sacred place direct
one must pass through a station called CRAZY
your mind and that wild line don’t intersect
and the path between is dim and hazy
you’ll find there is no you, you can detect
as you flicker in and out, mind-phasing
til on the far side emerges perfect
a mind that fires bright and remains blazing
beware he who values his sanity
above the wisdom of this space-less place
flashing sane is just a passing vanity
but madness brings a timeless kind of grace
It’s venturing through the dark that steals will,
but venturing through the dark steels the will
That stubble, once a forest full of trees,
now rides the hills down to the turd brown sea.
I’d heard the drumming coming from the banks.
An army of axe men formed into ranks.
Firing up engines of desolation,
scarring the earth in ragged ablation.
And down the river, those drums went silent.
Modern man wondered where the tribes all went.
In ancient temples they’d preached mysteries.
Lost to the burning of the histories,
by purists who’d gathered in mankind’s flanks
to massacre all of the mainstream cranks.
And they sang their songs of faith and nation
to the tune of engines of desolation.
And in my dream I saw a vast expanse.
To the horizon tawny hills did roll.
Stood nothing but a tower in stout stance,
to burden the barrenness of this knoll.
Such an anomaly must draw one near.
So I began to march with all my might.
Hours down, feet sore, with vanishing good cheer,
as the tower retreated from my sight.
What devil played these tricks inside my mind,
and thieved that wonder under the blue dome
that suggests the existence of mankind
in this slumber simulacrum of home.
When I awoke the world seemed right again,
a world where all resides beyond my ken.