Stacked in columns
of numbered memories
Black boxes tightly
sealed
A warehouse of
forgotten dreams
Heated moments
frozen in
Time
Universe folding
within and without
Wraping up my
consciousness in
gravatational glue
The past is trapped
in the number 6
And number 9 has
no future in
the present
What is shall be
And shall be again
When glass horses
shatter iron
moons
Electric emotions
spin within gold
rings
The DNA of thought
is eternity touched
spirit
A white bearded
old man sits in
a chair guarding
the Black Boxes
With his cane he
taps on a box
Out of the box
escapes a thought
at the speed of
light
The 85th dimension
is merely one atom
in time
And all thoughts
must pay at the
ticket booth where
the color of
consciousness is
is bathed in
ethereal light
The old man laughs
and his laughter
echoes without
a sound
He is that he is
and amuses himself
with wine of his
own making
The banquet is
set and the old
man sends out
the invitations
Gently he taps on
the Black Boxes..
but ony few come
to the feast..