I Lifted Up

from suffering and pain that is piped into veins by the organ-less master who relentlessly plays from a congested gutter of fake themes hiding in deception and callous clutter from distaste of the old the sick the poor and uninvited from the self-imposed silent deaf and short-sighted I rise as a bed of plume feathers carry me gently towards an untainted treasure klimt gold ash pours over my body soothing the distress I allowed to infest I stroll along the mountains aurora feet sinking into a bed of stardust flora gazing out at mankind a dull drum beat of the blinding matrix trudging in sync to a contrived greatness oblivious to the thundering roar of perishing seas animals lie floating in warm global soaking smoldering sun with rusted rays shivers in the sky with disheartened malaise the illusion is breaking a decision is undertaking a red beaked sparrow beckons me to look off into the darkening blue a great tempest is coming and long overdue