Roger Dean
A drifting, incandescent essence envelops through my dream
Inducing awe from plasmic shores and bright, blazing beams
Across still surface waters of rationality and thinking
Through lush and endless valleys, weightlessly sinking
In search of artifacts entombed in forgotten crypts of time
And avidly seeking relief in the splendorous and sublime.
Soon the lands became the ballad of a maddened bard,
Escaping description- save for dissolving glass shards
Which retreat into tiny particles of dust and sand
Crumbling into a paltry resin if touched by hand
After molting, phantasmically and skillfully:
Old mechanisms return craftily and willfully.
Fibrous webby lacing dresses lichen clans in hut near bog,
Comprised of decayed and collapsing nether-woven logs.
Within the hut is seated a most mysterious hermit-sage,
Bony frame, wilted skin, vacant expression
That somehow saw beyond comprehension
And found me bewildered and aghast,
A suitable subject for spilling his past:
I've traveled to the wildest dimensions in my dreams,
And became a fixed sentinel- a gate-keeping emissary
If you find yourself fit to journey on, please do,
But know: misguided minds usher in your doom!
And that, my friends, was my shamanic inter-dream initiation,
Deployed by the crooked countenance of my crazed imagination.
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