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
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