The Chant

I spied a brace of Geezenstacks come loping through the night,
Followed by a unicorn, with eyes lit fiery-bright;
A spectre sat astride the steed, with hourglass in hand,
And watched with morbid pleasure as the top ran out its sand.

On across the swamp they jogged, with nary a slosh nor splash,
The only sound apparent was the Devil’s Hell-Hound lash
As it fell upon his panting wolves and stung their rabid jaws;
Driving fast to Purgatory, as steam rose from tempered paws.

Then I saw their quarry, stumbling up a rocky scarp,
An Archangel, with wings broken, clutching tight a precious harp;
Golden-threaded raiments hung in tatters down his back,
And blood trickled from the wounds left by a taloned Geezenstack.

Then I saw the Hand of God reach down, to mark a distinct line,
That naught of Evil Ways might cross to slay His angel fine,
Then the sky exploded, as the Earth and Sun ‘came one,
And awaking from my dream, stark reality had gone.

Dreams becoming nightmares, recurring over and again;
Excesses of strong liquor, and fine, uncut cocaine,
Are freaking out my psyche, burning up the brain.
A search for Cosmic Wisdom, now rendered me insane.