Pale Shaman's Bad Dream (Inspired By Jim Morrison)

‘Dreams are at once fruit and outcry
against an atrophy of the senses.’  
 
‘When others demand that we become  
the people they want us to be, they force us  
to destroy the person we really are.  
Its a subtle kind of murder...the most loving  
parents and relatives commit this murder  
with smiles on their faces.’  
 
‘Love is a dream.  Dreams are good,  
but do not be surprised if you  
wake up in tears.’  
 
                        - Jim Morrison  
 
 
The end came in waves  
shuddering in limelight  
burning through itself,  
dreading its own dream of itself,  
its mortality,  
seeing its own vision dissolve,  
becoming its own silence.  
 
Deeper than lone majesty  
erected on fertile stages  
spewing its own essence  
to die in flashes of firestorm  
reeling in a severance,  
a separation occuring  
of a blinding whiteness  
from a fervid redness  
and blue electricity  
amplified and resonant,  
birthed in masses of itself replicated.  
A prismatic chaos and this  
was everything ending.  
 
Plumes of melodrama  
of the worlds awakening to  
a forests affirmation rising  
of endless beginnings.  
Oh, to begin again  
surrounded by plasma,  
barely formed, barely alive,  
barely screaming.  
Oh, to not be heard, seen, touched,  
to not know this infinity  
to not be its friend  
to not begin again  
but simply end.  
 
And in this final embrace,  
to break free yet not be broken  
to sing within an acoustic vastness  
and hear it sing back  
to be alone with love,  
alone, above.  
To kill and be killed,  
to be at one,  
One.  
 
           .....  
 
Deep in the trenches of the mind  
deep in a flesh garden  
the heart futilely sings.  
A child who forgot his way home  
wanders the pathways of decadence  
drunk on lack of consequences.  
The night forgot him there  
and Morning jilted him awake,  
Morning, agonies soulmate,  
Morning, a final stalemate,  
Morning, remembrance of a kiss.  
Defiled dreams awakening to bliss.  
It was not like this,  
it was never like this.  
 
Never again seen  
never again been  
I wander aimless in her eyes.  
How I want to see her again  
but there is no real seeing here  
in this end of calamity,  
in blinding light.  
There is no end to the night.  
Sleep, mournful dreams,  
sleep to awaken.  
 
         .....  
 
Awoken to silence!  
Music's end, unremembered frailty,  
once again to return to Mother Earth  
through her doors, her pores  
a slithering viscous mass.  
Her dark foreboding womb  
a release.  
I feel her pain simmering  
her wounds opening,  
her gaping gashes unreckoned.  
Un-stabbed, un-fenced once  
where the world beckoned  
Her.  
 
I wanted to kill the rapists,  
plunderers, pillagers  
takers of mercy,  
to dry her tears, stoned dessication.  
Oh, mother, oh fair sister, be golden  
be in rays of sunshine  
in this dark human wilderness.  
Grow again your pastures  
new and unrazed.  
Your weeping bleeding meadows  
are cut maidens hair.  
 
But, oh, she is crying for my end  
and The World weeps on her shoulder  
in cities of iron and concrete  
which desecrate her skin  
like a disease.  
A pale shaman’s bad dream,  
oh terrible reunion, rebirthing,  
a fucking of blackness.  
I come out the same as I entered,  
lost and mute,  
buried too soon,  
I envy the moon.  
I rise, screaming awake.  
 
But I am not a killer,  
I relish in the dawn.  
 
          .....