A Child he was, now way older,
seeking the long-lost piece of wonder.
Not childish, sick of the tales of sailors,
He touched ground again,
delving into the deep, dark forest,
where his holy deities lie within.
A serious house it is, on the serious earth.
A remnant of God and his undesired birth.

Those who died in the revolution,
Were summoned to heaven
To join Him and his mighty army,
Who conquered the Japanese and Russians.
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
He would not be seen as devious.
Whole costumes wore out, so he made a new one.
“It’s time for Another Parade to begin.”

Familiar he was to the graveyard,
But he never imagined digging ‘em.
The time had come now, peyote must be made.
Its sweet smell gave him no alert.
Mystery, feeling, and artefact swirl him into another swirl.
Maintain eye contact with the buried pearl.
On shattered ground, the midnight clowns
gathered up to paint City Hall brown.

I heard the parrot say something about me.
So I said something too. They did not answer,
But marched upon the frozen street.
North Country was still the same,
with rain and snow until reaching the cascade.
In whose blent, sacred water all our compulsions meet,
Are recollected, sang as belief.
How would that be considered obsolete?

After the long, dark night,
Wake up in the Church, he did.
With all these devilish activities,
Numb caught him in the morning uncomfortably.
The end had not come, unpredictably.
The idea of Return rooted in his heart, deeply.
Hamud was still gently, gently teaching him
That the Sun revolves the world around.