Dirty Little Secrets

in the magical land
of the musical spells
grows a tree most grand
where my spirit dwells

in the heart of the wood
at the top of a hill
we that loved once stood
aye, we know that land still

some can guess what i bear
ever i loved, yet alas!
whether Here or still There
through the woods do we pass

now every tree is a token
of the land where we dwell
ahh, the words that were spoken
when i loved, and so well

from my sight love would hide
on me no shame will fall
whether i walk, or whether i ride
in my life i loved them all.

phantom dogmas
clutching like pseudo coils
around our thoughts
like serpents hissing
“Thou Shalt Not!”

pomp and circumstance
pounding like drums
of an underlying nexus
machinery grinding
to a standstill

corrupted equations
a fizzle with excuses
revolving around it
unable to explain
the field of magic

the basic fallacies
shiny delusions
the so-called foundations
of our whole existence
are actually myths

silence
the only true philosophy

fleeting presences gather
’round the gates of sleep,
lands of Immortal Youth
there within our reach,
creatures of water and wood
of Darkness and Light
and of Twilight

we imagine the fields
sown with seed
and they are sown,
we imagine the fields
reaped of harvest
and they are reaped,
for the Spirit is Creator

Spirit of the Dreamer
wandering among images
memories or imaginations,
in remote legends we are
Children of Darkness
Children of Light
and of Twilight

an infinite depth,
an invisible divinity,
as the mystic night
trembles into dawn,
filling the Sacred Well
with the unuttered Word