Piloting My Own Corpse

The world is quiet here Yet growing louder by the day Renting paradise from vultures Split amongst two flavors of instability I clamored and dreamed for that golden armor That title that would cement my name in history To be a "hero" to someone I'd lose contact with forever Scars fade, and eternity is short I saw my dreams given flesh No gaps left to fill with fantasy Universally agreed upon perfection Yet we all clamor for the imperfect Through them, my dreams were given flesh Warmth on warmth, fear on tenderness To be able to understand but not empathize In a way that mattered enough to keep dreaming The consciousness may forget, but the body remembers Every molecule tattooed on my gray matter Screaming for familiarity in that paradise of dreams How cruel the unconscious mind may be at times Ego death and carry on Memories I can hardly call mine when it feels like I died Piloting a stranger's corpse with his own baggage Who were you, Derek? Why do I dream your dreams? Redwood, redwood The perfect antidote to tradition and trauma So why does the latter grip me so When it makes such a poor foundation? The flower girl piloting your body is a mass of contradiction Clinging to your first word, your fervent dream A redwood ship battered by your cresting waves Die a better death and quit clinging to your remains I wish you were me As anyone wishes they could do it all over again I know your pain better than you do Even if it meant I would die, I'd grant you that knowledge Mother Theresa burns in Hell Knowing there's nothing noble about suffering The modern king's cruel facsimile of Jesus' word Would make that poor carpenter weep in sadness and rage You needn't have feared, poor Derek For in choosing to hug over maim You were far closer to Him than anyone Who blindly listened to the charlatan on the pulpit while you slept You were blindly resilient, sweet departed So grant me that tenacity and simplicity If I grant you the peace you desired Will you grant me the peace that I do?