To the psychonauts exploring
the vistas of imagination.

There is a simple question
I ask of your investigation.

Are you seeking to know
beyond bounds of limitation,

or are you using "psychonaut"
to justify inebriation?

Where did all the poets go?
I can't find them on the streets.

Where did all the lovers go?
All I see is lust and greed.

Where did all the culture go?
It didn't come with my degree.

Where did all the passion go?
It's just rote monotony.

Where did all the thinkers go?
Instead of blank redundancy.

Where did all the peacefuls go?
Did they join the milit'ry?

Oh, I don't think I'll ever know.
Where did all the virtue go?

My mind stands as a monument, patient as a mountain
with icy peak not pestered by casual considerations
'though mourning howls through the crags
of my thoughts, and an agitated earth rumbles below.
Stoically I face the persistence of time flowing slow.

I received dreams last night, visions beyond
myself and my actions.

I saw a great man, with great compassion.
He used the last of his strength to save another
from the rushing of a tidal wave.
As others lifted his body from the ground
and spoke of his noble sacrifice,
the man thought to himself:
"I must continue to burn with light
to combat the forces of oppression."

I woke then, suddenly, and my vision
filled with spiraling blue and green
diffraction patterns, rippling across the ceiling.

A deep pleasure burned through my skull
and swept down my body, accompanied
with a high-pitched ringing, tinged with fear.

I saw a great green grassland,
a deep emerald color contrasting the
lapis lazuli color in the sky.
On the horizon stood a single mound,
a deep red clay of vital earth.

May I never forget what I have seen,
and always remember:
suffering and bliss are not two.

I came upon a river,
as wide as the years
spent to to find it.

I took of my shoes,
to rest down beside it.

And as I stopped
to think of a way
to make it across
the waters someday,

my hair turned grey,
my flesh to dust,
and the river swept me away.

I raged and I churned,
I frothed through the years.

I carved through the earth,
deep valleys and streams.

I devoured all in my path:

animals and travelers,
I held nothing back.

Until at last came a ferryman
slowly drifting with ease.

His eyes fully open,
with a soft smile and care.

I surged fully violent,
to consume him with my wake.

But as his oar pierced my skin --
Oh, agony's bright light!

His oar parted then,
and my drops diffracted the sky:

the stars and the moon,
all jewels within my mind!

Again and again:
deliberate strokes against my rage.

As he made his way across,
my mighty rapids became

rhythmic lapping on the shore.

Then he laid down his oar,
and prostrated three times

fully bent and out-stretched
with his head on the floor.

Surprised, I looked the side
to see who he met reverently.

And, what did I see? Myself, just as before.
Already standing on the other shore.

I left, again, on the next step for my path.
Where I find myself now makes me look back.
Do I regret everyone I've lost on my way?
I won't know 'til the end of these days.

But the new place I'm at is enough to think about:

He's divorced, his wife took the kids.
He drinks and regrets what he never did.
His laugh is like thunder, distant and looming;
his voice's like his television: obscene and booming.

The other man is older, he lives in the study
watches television all day 'til his eyes become ******.
He belittles himself, and has lost the will to live.
If only I could teach him the power to forgive.

I learned he lost his wife and daughter.
One to cancer, the other manslaughter.
Now he drinks from noon 'til morning,
and chain smokes without learning.

But as I stay awake in the evening,
listening to their drunken speaking
I wonder, to myself, rather than deplore:
is this what my life will have in store?

I think I've forgotten more than I know.

If only my thoughts would leave me alone,
and allow these insights to grow.

There's a darkness growing shadows,
like tendrils from a plant,
with wicked thoughts of discontent
and ill intentioned words like "can't."

You say that there's a place you're going;
a place you once called home.
But do houses stand the test of time
while streams around them flow?

I never thought I'd meet you
beyond the scope of centered thought,
but here you stand before me
and I know that I've been caught.

I won't ask for your forgiveness.
Nor compassion, love nor hope.
I only ask to be met as a man
drawn out with the undertow.