On A Cloud Of Found Souls

On a Cumulus Cloud of Timeless Drift—

  Up where the Albatross Soars in Glory—

Up where the Atmosphere's Clean & Crisp,

  Begins a most Fantastical Story:

Of Beings not Made for Earthly Ground—

  Once Lost and Wandering,—Incomplete—

But Drawn to a Distant, Skyward Sound,

  With Dreams of Wings, instead of Feet.

The Limited Dimensions of Human Existence

  Weighed on their Bodies & Slowed them down

As they Wandered from Place, to find their Presence

  And a Cure for the Common, Human Frown.

Robbed of the Currencies of Fear & Desire—

  Homeless Among the Deserted Weeds—

Looking to the Sky for Signs of Fire—

  Hoping the Stars could Feel their Needs.

And at their Lowest, the Notes took Hold,

  And Lifted them up off the Filthy Ground—

The Sound was New, and had never been Sold—

  Sung by their Muses that were Finally Found.

With the Help of the Angels the Souls were Lifted

  Along with their Muses, now Finally Free

From Stagnant Darkness—Now so Distant—

  To The Cloud so Present, to Eternally Be.