Desert Ranger

Once upon a time, long ago, there was a maverick, a desert ranger

Who almost died alone, to feed the crows, to become the stranger

Death defied him and life denied him, he thought all hope was lost

Until he found an old way, to bridge the gap and he finally crossed...

...into a barren, purgatorial place, to be cast adrift and left for blind

In an otherworld wasteland, where Hell itself had been left behind

And he cursed gods and men, with a carrion's caw and a loaded rifle

As he swore his vengeance, in the nightmares that he couldn't stifle

And now he wanders along the neural networks of lax lucid dreamers

Seeking a way back, through the fault lines of self-doubting schemers

And although he's fed on many, leaving them a disturbed empty shell

He's still trapped, in a nowhere place, that's so much worse than Hell

So be warned tonight, of a sightless maverick, carrying a carrion crow

For he might emerge, from the wastelands, with delusions to bestow

And you might live happily, forever after, but you will be the stranger

Who will feed the crows, as he once did, as the undead desert ranger

 

On The Far Side Of The Moon

 On the far side of the moon, there's a wonderful place of pure ignorant bliss

Where myriad stars above abound, some feel so close you could almost wish

It's an imaginary domain, where our gods forever lie, with their faces hidden

In the mass open graves, where they were born to die, in thoughts forbidden

Even with enlightenment through cognition, naught arises from that unseen

And nothing stirs, for it's solely the devil's work, that is denounced, obscene

But even Hell itself, is just the unreal vacuous realm, of a distant lunar mare

Where the dreamcatchers catch, turning daydreams to night, for us to share

And in that airless pantheon phasm, envisage a monolith, that stands alone

A sentinel to the frozen nothingness, of lava, shaped into a temple of stone

But it's there in prayers, in an impact crater, intelligently designed and hewn

Engraved with ancient hieroglyphs, of doctrines, on the far side of the moon

It's a blissful place we cannot see, but we fill the gaps with wishful thinking

Eternally cold and barren, day or night, but beware when the sun is sinking

For in the pitch-black, beneath all those glistening stars, dark matters form

As the desiccated dust, turns into scattered ashes, before the light of dawn