In dryest desert
Lay hidden jewels,
The monuments of days gone by,
Beneath the holy
Sands of Time,
Where altars to the Old Gods lie,

I found myself
Without my faith,
And could not pray, for I would die,
When I awoke,
Beneath the palms,
At the temple of the Ceruni.

To see their Gods,
Such power and fear!
For I've felt no presence as I have felt here,
So strong,  so pure,
So rich; Alive!
The Gods have felt so near this night.

I wandered in,
Through sacred gardens,
Which no other man had yet seemed defy,
And came upon her,
Her robes as the snow,
The Goddess of the Ceruni.

She beckoned me
From silvered dome,
Where she was seated,  upon silver throne,
I passed the great hemp
And red poppies which shone,
To lay my eyes upon her.

"O Dear Goddess," did i cry,
"Have the heart to tell me why,
When I have spent my days and nights,
Not quite dead, Yet not alive,
Am I shrouded in your Holy Light? "

She gave no words,
But simply smiled,
I, gripped by silence all the while,
Could find no speech
Nor pause for thought,
As she whispered lessons which one time, were taught.

You may think me mad;
I swear I am not!
I'll point out the towers if we find the spot,
Such silver and gold,
Such wonderful shine!
To be in a place where the Gods would recline.

I've witnessed the spires
Of fallen empires,
So proudly they stand in desert dry!
But I've no recollection,
Upon sudden reflection,
Of where the Holy Temple lies.

But when I die,
O, take me there!
Where hemp and poppy kiss the sky!
And on my slate,
Let them write,
"Here lies the last of the Ceruni!"

To see her smile,
Beyond the sky,
Great Mother Earth who brings us life,  
And hear her voice,
Among the stars,
Our kind and gentle guide from strife,

I'd give it all;
One Hundred - fold,
And all the days 'til I grow old,
To pierce her veil,
Of endless blue,
Each second,  a treasure to behold.

To see a world,
Beyond the black,
I'd leave,  and i might not come back.
But were all men
So brave and bold,
We'd enter space with fierce attack.

"It's only human, "
I've heard say,
"To ponder over a life in space, "
But if ever
We leave this place,
Will it save our human race?

He sits low,
But he rides high.
Their heads turn
When he drives by.
He won't stop
Unless you're trying
To buy,

The Man with the silver rings.

When he gets a call,
He'll drive to your house,
"Whatever you need,
A gram to an ounce,
It takes a bit longer,
If you want a pound. "

He'll bring you anything...

The party began
When his backpack arrived;
And when it was emptied,
It withered and died,
It took him one phone call,
To get resupplied,

And back on the scene of things...

The door's always open,
In case he stops by,
With Haze or Rhino
Or Widow or Thai
Sometimes he'll bring presents,
He doesn't supply,

The Man with the silver rings.

It's Friday night,
And it's almost ten,
So I've hit the ***** streets,
To meet with some friends.

I've left my car keys,
"Forgotten" my wallet,
And taken the Metro
To where Main Street begins.

I found them at "Deans,"
Up a floor and a half,
Smoking some Black Magic
In the elevator shaft.

My new best friend
Is about to perform,
But He's got stage fright,
As such is the norm,

On a Friday night,
On Main Street...

Before they start playing,
They take one last drink,
Then the music begins,
Before I can think.

When it's over,  they're happy,
It was a nice crowd,
But now it's time to pack up,
And get the hell out.

So we left their guitars
In the bass player's car.
To go for a walk,
But we won't get too far,
Until we see shadows
And signs of life,

On a Friday night,
On Main Street...

They tilt from the corners,
And lean on the walls,
Their palms are held open,
Their gaze always falls.

They ask for a dollar,
Or something at all,
A smoke or a drink,
A simple phone call.

On Fridays like this,
I so often give thought,
To those unfortunate souls
Our "fair" city forgot,

In this land of  the plenty,
They have nothing at all;
Just a lonely spot,

On Main Street...

So many years,
Lifetimes ago,
They saw him walking by the sea.
Their curious eyes
Found something new,
So they wondered what he could be.

They called him Fire,
For every night,
A mournful blaze marks his camp.
And many pairs
Of curious eyes,
Watch him shiver, cold and damp.

How he would rise
From where he lay,
To greet the morning sun each day,
Or bow his head,
His arms outstretched,
And reaching for the sky,  he'd pray.

They called him Fire,
For when he eats,
The trees are filled with deathly smoke,
And as he stood,
Above his ****,
With tear - filled eyes,  he often spoke.

To ask relief,
From sacred names,
A penance for the life he'd ended,
And swear anew,
To end his shame,
That he'd see balance once more mended.

And so he marched,
Into the trees,
And there he found my Mother's den,
Where curiously,  he offered meat,  
And said,

"I've come to call you 'friend. '"