Deja Vu

An angry night I happened to fly
toward a shapeless mass of land.
The sea was fuming above the sky
and waves rolled into shining sand.

A land beyond a desolate haze,
the snakes of satan there dance.
The grey and blue hue of a maze
erupts over a dream like trance.

A rumbling voice from beneath
surrounds at once a mysterious sheath.
A coquettish lamb and a gaping lawn
meet the piper at the gates of dawn.

The air was filled with a deathly scent
that smelled of eagles which deduced
that the tiny man hither bent
was lost and clueless and seduced.

The streets they are a twilight blur
of skins and faces and glossy fur.
Down the slopes of watered mud,
they carry the sacred cup of blood.

A chilly curtain of fearful gloom
languidly embraces the empty room
and walks and talks in every street
and under the traveller's burning feet.

I seek redress over medieval beds
of sprightly maidens shaking heads
in far away brothels, where many a ton
of passions lay under a taciturn sun.

An air of ethereal dread
hangs over the house of whores
and sings and sleeps in the bed
sailing silently to elyssian shores.

Dark secrets thus locked in jars
hold the sketchy dreams of gold
then reveal the murmur of mars
dark as the nights of Isis told.

A solemn hill suddenly fades out.
A happy hen sways monstrous hips.
The delectable wine of chance and doubt
combine and drown my pensive lips.

A wooden chalice breaks my fall
and vicious poison covers it's wall.
A sumptous feast of mice and men
all devoured by the soulless hen.

At once I see dreamy eyes
staring beyond the cold street light.
The dream escapes thawing the ice
of the cold, the heartless, the weeping night.