GO EASY ON THE MYSTICISM

GO EASY ON THE MYSTICISM

Let the nasty dreams come hurdling, in vivid color, like a prism.
Let the gurus speak to me in subtle tones of muted wisdom.

Explain to me earthquakes in China, homeless lying in the streets,
In language I can understand, make it short and make it sweet.

Let the dreams come flickering silver across this afghan’s color bold,
This wondrous bed that in pain I hide in, sheltered from a world so cold.

Lift me soaring above the mountains, where this life of mine appears so small.
The earth an insulated bubble, far removed its toil and trouble.
Disappeared its cracked veneer, into a wounded atmosphere.

Let the dragons breath their fire, the monsters run amok.
The fragments of my dreams lie shattered, nothing but a cluster fuck.

The snake it circles around my neck, coiling serpent, oh so tight.
While self-important maitre'd's whip me with their chains and snarl,
Destroying my appetite.

Let the carrion birds pluck out my eyes, a most unpleasant sight to see,
But over in a gruesome instant, a fitting, final mockery.
It’s hard to smile and join the ride, to shrug off war and genocide,
And something deep inside me distrusts a prophet’s vision.

So let the gurus speak with humor, spouting a few witticisms,
In language I can understand, go easy on the mysticism.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED