(Seriously, I'm stoned out of my wits.)
When it was raining in heaven,
You were going home by the nine-eleven.
The winds just ruffled your hair,
Filled with feathers from wings mortal eyes could not bear.
Our gazes swung to the mundane,
Automatically registering ourselves sane
Conforming to a society's views
Going against which leads to the noose.
Angels in heaven did battle to lose
While we of Earth think thoughts obtuse;
Ever self-serving, inward;
Nary a tendril towards that forward
Progress be damn'd, we'll wallow in the present
And never make a move without prior consent
When in the mind of a self there is but a spoon of sense
And we call lesser beings more dense
While we shackle ourselves to the chains of an age
Sprinkling our pizzas with parsley and sage.
Eidolons of misty rifts
Come marching past my usual drifts
Harken back to memory of old
Dragon-marching, strong and bold.
In formation jump the sty,
In formation march the rye.
In formation stoop to tie
And thus in our fates we die
Ever bound to that spinning wheel
While making for ourselves a celluloid reel
Of that we would leave behind.
Immortality comes at a price
When all's done, who tosses the dice?
WIsh we for wealth and power
Desire and greed, mistresses in our bower
Or leave behind our family's mark
Set a new stone with in the dark;
A descendancy foretold,
To newer times their allegiance sold.
That which was, shall never be;
If you can through the mists of time, see.