"Actually I don't remember being born,  
it must have happened during  
one of my black outs"
–Jim Morrison

Brought by the gods  
of attainment  
for the proletariat to explore.  
Bow string  
pulled taught, arrow notched,  
waiting for a mystical  
antelope to materialize.  
How lithely his feather feet  
glide into the night.
Stars form an alleyway
for his flight from
quest to wisdom.  
Fire of perception,  
his flesh roasted  
in the pits  
of misconception.
A torture of sorts,  
the soul braved  
a man and his mind.
Author's Note
Written for RiAN's comp, "Rebels with a cause///Jim Morrison".
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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badmalthus DanielChristensen nomoth
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