Spilling salt and iron rich liquids

And grasping at crescent shaped flesh

While climbing the mountain of dragons

The path clouded if it exists

Rising from the ground it grows

Larger than ever anticipated

Slow and steadfast as an old oak

Roots much deeper than it lets on

Watered by a web of darkness

It grew and died and then came back

Stronger each time it was cut down

A parasite upon festering reality

The black smells of pure white vanilla

Tantalizing the very soul

Instigator of passion

Rising to the height of glory

Vigor like a raver on Ecstasy

It never stops plotting

Preying upon fantasy and lacking substance

Visitor of dreams... Visitor of dreams

- Michael Carpenter © 2002