Only in a stupor strange and dense, did they permit me
Entrance to their midnight druid ceremony.
Clothed in deerskin cloaks, they swiftly invoked
Ancient canticles of tempest-culling oaths,
Bound to footpaths mirroring the starry course.
Thence, the tribe decried a tale of dim remorse
Foretelling of the fall of western man, bound
To reason and logic: material world's renown–
First, a man of vibrant-shaded flair leapt in,
Attune with other movements in the circle's rim,
Making peace with scattered winds, earthly entities,
Only to be extinguished by the hands of Industry:
A man of darkened raiments swept his blade
And shunned the rhythm of the mid-woods parade,
Smiting celebration with a grim, mechanical glare,
Contaminating harmony, in dire need now of repair.
Solemn intervention to revitalize the tattered ruins
Rhapsodically began, by the tribal feather festoon'd
Children, unfolding from the shrapnel-laden graves,
Bearing anew ripe, supple, imaginations unscathed–
Having, thankfully, escaped the clutches of Industry's
Mind-forged manacles, by their precious ingenuity,
Unaccustomed to any illusions of temporal durations
And domination tactics, dissolved in youth's sensations.
Enshrining the spirit of high art's endless creation,
Inspiration swelled, instilling Industry's disintegration.
It then dawned upon me– in my ruptured, disoriented state,
For unknown intervals, this vision gathering did I hallucinate.
