The Mystic’s Dance

Transcendence of a semi-subculture
The gypsies cross barefoot over city limits
Merging in fading footprints at the Juncture

Where oil smells met wishing wells
And tire bumps meet the California swells
What’s furthermore lost is all shot to Hell
As Heaven’s gates open
For those only with eyes to tell

The mystics dance in calm elation
For the eternal brews their untold celebration
As the townspeople grimace at each withheld promise
Promises of a separation severely blinding us

For a more fortunate breed still living on the cusp
Roused by Ancient texts keeping them further out of touch
From outer realms to other worlds
For which they were so courageously born from

Meanwhile, the majii, given the tools they seek
For in black majick they heavily dabbled
Though in ill-will they never speak

Even fewer lie shamed and weap
While fewer still find means to complicate their broken speech
Deep within the Kingdom; the secrets never leaked

Given occult measures redefined
To eyes that may never see defined
Webbed consciousness in an intrinsic release
Birthing tumultuous beats in a crystalline Sea

However once lost,
Misguided souls recover the gridwork now exposed fruitlessly
An infinitesimal grounds to
claim a gratifying peace
Yet unsolved

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