Perspective

I met a Bedouin monk
in sandpaper black cloth
and sanskrit notes of mystic spells
enchanted delicate
made of moth
he shimmered as a mirage
and bore visions along with
of good clean fun
and hand grenades
weapons of lore and long-lost myth

And as he came forth
my mind split in three
and eyes bloomed up
from my scattered veiny brain trees
I saw the majesty of Hades
I saw the supple lines of Her
knew the reason for the death of God
and superstition that had chained Myrrh
in Bethlehem alongside more
with stars to guide while bushes spake
I rose in lotus as my voice blew out
and floated above
completely awake
my power line brains
with eyes born within
circled around me while my forearms grew fins
the monk sat on his heels
and patiently waited
"To you I bequeath," he said
and then faded

The wheel had turned and I was gifted this flesh
though my mind is from Andromeda
my body is still fresh
time has yet to whither
though doubtless it will come
but until then I must preach
in the cadence of the Sun
"Do not forget, no never do as I:
who had at moments forgotten
and lived life as in a lie.
Be the spirit which burns inside
despite the grayness life can sling
for when celestial bodies such as ours do collide
apathy doesn't mean a thing."