To realms so foreign was the dreamer flung
Places where the sky hangs heavily from spitting suns
Foliage dripping, trickling by
Marbles spinning and rattling inside the eye.
The wanderer’s eyes open, only to find that those aberrations are not birds
Lines of static pulse across the sky as The One above laughs in stupor
He created it- but his memory lingers not
The turgid denizens weep, longing to look away
Their time of liberation has passed by
For it is too late for the dreamer who delves into the sky
They absorb and become as empty as the stars- and thus perishes the beautiful contrast of night and day.
Their minds teeming and squirming with words that aren’t really words
Do not learn
Now you must stay.