Birth Pains Of Astral Projections

I can almost see shimmering faery

As I recline on moss

But there isn't enough primrose

There are only wishes in

A hidden forest

I can almost see ghosts

As I shiver on icy floorboards

But Amelia is asleep in winter

There are only prayers

In a secret house

I was lost by the wayside

Amidst the groans of a tired time

There is nothing for me here

The tales of the flute by the fire

A stroll through a somber evening

Smoke enticing from their pipes… pipes

And the honourable visions

Of a pulseless mind

Death comes in an instant

If you like

But Amelia may be waking soon

When I sleep, I can't pull myself away,

Yet.

But I know there are mansions out there,

Maybe on Saturn or Mars or Mercury or Luna,

Maybe on Saturn or Mars or Mercury or Luna,

…Maybe this is a clue.

I'd never been washed ashore

Or seen the droll night before

My body vanished

I hovered in the concourse

Of the court of thousands

Of yellow asphodel

It hurts remembering the fragrance of Heaven.

We lived in the rowans, avoiding mad water

Spoiling our children with tea and mushrooms

Early in the autumn as we slept by the oven

Someone sent a shape who tore the house apart.

Our bond shattered, I was drawn away

I was caught praying the shade.

Recently, I went back to my door

And breathed…

It was love filtered through yellow paraffin

We pushed with all our might

For you…