The Land of the Scarecrows

December 12, 2017 henry_admin 0 Comments

This is the Inferno

Not fiery pits nor rivers of blood

Abandoned wagons, mountains of sand

Before endless planes

With the illusion of returning to origin

Under the wrathful sun

This is the Inferno

This is the hollow-land

None have returned

Banquets of sand, Oases of dirt

Nothing to quench eternal desire

Unsatiated longing

This is the hollow-land

This is the land of the scarecrows

Lied to by their prophet

Cheated of the earth

Of god’s lush and fertile pastures

Joyful songs from dried voices

Caught in a gail-force of sand

This is the land of the scarecrows

This is the swamp

Fetter of weed

Expanding and contracting

By the slight current

Pulsating mob

Like a pit of snakes

This is the swamp

This is the land of the dead ones

Reeling their heads in grotesque laughter

No depth to their misery

Quick eyes when they pass

Constantly peering down at themselves

Trapped in the wasteland of common life

This is the land of the dead ones

This is eternity

Nothing to keep company

But excruciating awareness

And silly mind games

That this is this, and that is that

Been given the chance

Would we have chosen consciousness

Rather than sleep in the eternal dark

Before it was all sound and furious movement

This is eternity

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