The Mad Dream

 

            The Mad Dream

We are Building an Empire of Rest—

Deep, Dark, Peaceful & Sweet—

                      ...Sleep—

We've Lived—

through the Torrential Torments of Rimaud—

We've Seen the Divine Revelations of Blake—

We Have the Perception of Dickinson,

with the Patience of Death itself.

We Grieve, Bathe, and Take

from the Disgusting & Depraved world of Baudelaire—

Through the Disappointment & Anger 

of Bukowski,—we have Risen—

as what flows through our Veins

is no longer Blood,

but Acid.

We have Materialized Ephemeral Eternities—

into the Ethereal Spectrum of Dream.

Every Night we Live, and Live Again—

and every Morning we Desire—

More.—

Thus we Embody Nietzsche's Word—

The Eternal Recurrence is our Reality—

Chaotic and Beautiful, where there is no Pressure

to Perform nor Give—

but are Allowed to Observe—Freely—

without Judgement—

to Take, without Guilt—

to Forget, without Regret—

and to Remember, by Choice—

To not be in Control—but Allow—

That is the Highest Power...

So Pleasurable is this Acceptance—

our eyes stay closed in Ecstasy—

our minds Tuned only, to The Cosmic Soul—

now Singing loudly, in the Choir 

of the Underlying Matrix

of Everything.

The Cosmic Beast backs down—

its tail between its legs

at the Sound of our Song.

And as we pick only the Richest Fruit—

from the Forest of Everlasting Love—

from the Temporal Dying Tree—

and from the Transtemporal Temple—

they Thank us

     for our Desire

          to Overcome—