The Composition Of A Dream
Foreign gravity throws me recklessly through the floor,
No longer breathing the air from this dreary world,
The body abandoned, lying still, appearing dead
The change is made, into the soul's world instead
Where skyscrapers forged of both faith and fear,
Pierce the shattered, purple, red and black atmosphere,
Staring from the unseen ground at clouds fast and fleeing
Holding desperately onto my own imagination, unyieldng
Satellites fall fast towards me, loaded with my shortcomings,
Screeching with a sound loud enough to call mind-numbing
Weapons capable of a ninety-mile nightmare radius,
Containing the enraged embers of Mt.Visuvius
So I reach into my mind's left jacket pocket,
To find a white revolver, ivory-coated with aspiration,
Gunpowder mixed with hope, love, and desperation
I shove the barrel, align the chamber, and cock it, eyes aflame
As my enemies quickly begin to remember my name,
As the gun finds the trigger-finger ready to collapse an empire,
I raise it to the sky, aiming higher, between sights acquired
A feeling of resistance through the brain,
Before taking the maddest of chances,
Unrestrained, unrefined, seductive extravagance is
Something even Faust's flickering smile would admire
So I take careful aim, with all of my sorrow and fire
Satellites detonate spreading all over, fear expired
Dead machines sprawled over the ground, unwired
The sun rises, and the world finally switches to what I desire
(Happening every once and a while,
Unexpected, both mind and matter transpired
These dreams come when angst and awe conspire
Composition identical to Greek fire)
