Seething cauldron, simmering coals,
Fighting underneath, Unconscious goals.
Soaring to the top, the muse hits home,
The descent is rapid, the connection is gone.
Littered with symbols, dreams spellbind,
You grope for connections, its easy to find.
The feast of senses, the thought monorail,
Despite the activity, you're in a zombie jail.
Of the bird eating fruit, the observer takes note,
Neither fearful of the lion, nor devouring of the goat.
The Virgin Mother, the old Wives tale,
The historical events, leaving a collective trail?
If you want to redeem your self, let The Fool take that leap,
The more you pine to rise, the more you will have to go deep.
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