"In Dreams"

Flashing and dancing
Phantasmagoria
And their laughter fading
With Numbered hands.
Flashes dance and we'll just. be.

Dreaming landscapes blurred
Happy Trees under the fuzzy sun.
Underneath me sequential white lines,
Winding black and wind caress me
Like lovers hands..

Gravel uproar and I'm back to Simple
Once again on the faded porch.
Wind close behind me
In vain keeping with my pace
Because I won't sleep 'till I die.

The rat race quiets to a crawl
In space and time. Halted.
As the swirling cosmos
In a droplet careens downward
Over the lips of another
.......in Dreams.
Unknown "Psychonaut" Rabid - 16 years, 8 months, 2 days ago

Once there stood a caricature of a man,
Not the man himself, but a funny picture.

The caricature wished only to remember something,
Anything but could recall nothing at all.

You see, the caricature had at once been a man
With real features and a third dimension on which to rely.

His ink was new, sharp, unfaded black
From Indian ink the artist used.

Thanks to the awkward angle at which he was drawn,
He could no longer see the attractive blonde one drawing over.

Miserably he stood though his legs grew tired
Like Hades in greek lore his burden was eternal.

Still yet, he'd often wonder where he'd been before
And what he'd left behind before becoming a caricature.
Unknown "Psychonaut" Rabid - 16 years, 9 months, 5 days ago

Are we
what we are?

We are, aren't we?
because I like thinking we are,
Or we will be.

I don't think
There is any time
better than any time
For us to be what we are.

Folding like soft sheets
And the newspaper with it's date.
It's the same day that we became
what we are.

Remember that day?
We will, won't we?
It's the day we are whatever it is.

No better time to be
what it is we are,
what it is we will be.
Unknown "Psychonaut" Rabid - 16 years, 9 months, 5 days ago

Return to Simple"

It's been quite a while,
I can tell.
Grass is overgrown
While vines creep their way
Spread accross brick walls and fences.

Through the gravel
Grass is showing new life.
They seem to miss kissing
My tires when I come to a stop.

It's been quite a while,
So the dusty surfaces
And dirty windows tell me.
My first few steps in and they know I'm back.
Books wish only for a hello
But only after the guitar get's
A strummin.

It'll be a long time comin'
And I'll finally be where I was going.
Like Buffet I'll be lost in my margaritaville.

Never soon enough
And my day will come.
Time again to watch my blue freind
Against a speckled backdrop.

Again grass will be my blanket
And we'll sing an audience of millions.
It will have been a long time comin'
And never soon enough
That we'll return to Simple.
Unknown "Psychonaut" Rabid - 16 years, 9 months, 5 days ago

Once there stood a caricature of a man,
Not the man himself, but a funny picture.

The caricature wished only to remember something,
Anything but could recall nothing at all.

You see, the caricature had at once been a man
With real features and a third dimension on which to rely.

His ink was new, sharp, unfaded black
From Indian ink the artist used.

Thanks to the awkward angle at which he was drawn,
He could no longer see the attractive blonde one drawing over.

Miserably he stood though his legs grew tired
Like Hades in greek lore his burden was eternal.

Still yet, he'd often wonder where he'd been before
And what he'd left behind before becoming a caricature.
Unknown "Psychonaut" Rabid - 16 years, 9 months, 5 days ago