Birth or Death?
Posted: Fri Mar 26, 2004 3:11 pm
Minnows of pure sunlight flew past your bewildered head
As you lay comatose, unmoving on the unmade bed
Unable to seperate the dreams from the wake
Angels were tugging and pulling your silver cord to take
Pills like pomegranates were strewn all over your chest
The white flesh like snow contrasting underneath the rest
And you dream of white fountains, gushing with warm blood
Garden's of idyllic Eden before the deluge of the flood
And the misty moon tears at your veils of reality
And threatens to overtake the wild horses of insanity
Hooves thundering in your imaginations of place
Metallic clickings of the blacksmiths of time and space
Howling rabid dogs that snarl in your startled face
Snakes hissing in the opulence of soft lace
And you see the tunnel of light like a capture
And it fills your soul with a joyous rapture
Fuelled by the alcohol and the dark pills that grow
The straightjacket of life, just refuses to let go
And suddenly there is wet warm dark blood on your hair
The white nurses just sat back and managed a whimsical stare
A slap, a cry and a sharp intake of breath
Either this is birth again or a very confused death
Georges
Copyright: George Wright 2004
As you lay comatose, unmoving on the unmade bed
Unable to seperate the dreams from the wake
Angels were tugging and pulling your silver cord to take
Pills like pomegranates were strewn all over your chest
The white flesh like snow contrasting underneath the rest
And you dream of white fountains, gushing with warm blood
Garden's of idyllic Eden before the deluge of the flood
And the misty moon tears at your veils of reality
And threatens to overtake the wild horses of insanity
Hooves thundering in your imaginations of place
Metallic clickings of the blacksmiths of time and space
Howling rabid dogs that snarl in your startled face
Snakes hissing in the opulence of soft lace
And you see the tunnel of light like a capture
And it fills your soul with a joyous rapture
Fuelled by the alcohol and the dark pills that grow
The straightjacket of life, just refuses to let go
And suddenly there is wet warm dark blood on your hair
The white nurses just sat back and managed a whimsical stare
A slap, a cry and a sharp intake of breath
Either this is birth again or a very confused death
Georges
Copyright: George Wright 2004