Rememberance Of The Lizard King Poem by Meghan

4 am
weeping. slow and heavy
silent words suppressed in agony
unsettling thoughts
nervous and incoherent
the translucent fabric hangs fluttering
in front of stars
softening the blackest night
whimsical in it's movement
streaming tears
questioning the realm of exsistence
sapphire blue burns with confusion
evidence of his presence
soul lingering in the candled room
remnants of the Wiccan Wedding
thoughts devoted to his truth
he relishes in the aftermath
he sleeps for Milennia in forests of azure
with his brightly feathered negro companions, stoned.
as stone
a portrait of the poet
immaculate in death
fills my head
unrelenting visions
and once again confusion
drinking with number three is what I'd write
the third to chase bliss, ride down death in all shapes and forms,
the third and final
or rather, maybe I'd scribble
do you believe in omens?
dreams of his fatal bath
premonitions for the third
sparks, flying banners, j.h. and j.j.
now j.m., Mr. Mojo Risin'
keep rising
leave your countless queens
your parisian revery
leave the music and the words
but take your reptilious soul
Lizard King
as the cigarette holds the flame
the smoke rises
this is the last
Mr. Mojo Risin'
keep risin'.....
rise on.