Universal Soul
I remember now a sky of aggressive vibrations,
Bleeding red rushes of madness upon the horizon.
Above the town a heavy haze hangs below the clouds
Tainted are the colours of the rainbows glow.
Painted are pictures of faceless crowds.
I’m awaiting the surge, knowing not what will come of
The experience, the clouds outside foretell a pleasant
Eve of awakening, Inside I’m shaking, knowing that soon
All will be lost below the waning moon.
A collection of musical arrangements revolve around my form
I wish to pick the strings of steel above the hollow but know
That first I must swallow the pain of removing myself from such
A wallowing refrain. Golden glows of summers promise
Kiss the movements of the sky, a face within the cotton, she
Has hair of shoulder length, she glows, oh how magnificently
She glows surrounded by shades of expanse.
A shimmering dance of unspoken shadows feeds the sky still bleeding,
Upon the horizon a grey silhouette is seen, no longer do fields
And rolling hills of green posses this valley in their spirit,
They have been cast down, this town, built upon a bellowing
Industry is guilty of nothing less than smoking a perfect sky to
Some tainted yellow, denying the youth a sky they will never know.
Paint me a picture of this land how you would understand
It without the torturing hand of man and his creation.
Upon the Surface of Our Mother they spread as disease, turning
The most beautiful of scenes so easily into a profit of destruction.
Never before have I seen the world with such clarity
Everything sharp, everything crisp,
This feeling is a lens upon reality
I see the same as the next man but perceive its proportions differently
I believe in the universal soul
I believe in an integrated whole
As above so below
So the world should rightly know
Feed the night
Feed the light
Gargantuan obscurities pass by my window coated
In a lilac tone, upon the horizon the sun is ending his course
For the day, upon his way his radiance shines upon
In various angles towards the blood end of emotions spectrum.
Small wisps drift on by; some would have you believe that where you go when you die
But I believe that we return to the one, as atoms into the earth, as souls into the
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poem by David Lacey
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