The Godlike Beings We Must Be

I cannot shake the negatives

From the dustbin of my mind,

It is a dark and crowded place

Of thoughts unruly and unkind.

I labour to evict them now

But only particles I find

Of dreams dismembered and desires

That like an old newsreel unwind

And spill upon the Spirit's floor

Like celluloid, a tangled mess.

I have tired of my record's grooves

Scratching out their loneliness

And habits old and old refrains ,

Some music of the New would hear,

Erase the songs and lullabies

Of youth's and manhood's yesteryear,

Replace the television's screen

With images of inner sight,

The symbol messages and dreams

That beckon softly in the night.

Oh to be free of all that stays

The spirit from its destined course,

For brighter worlds to emerge.

To reach the heavens, touch the source

Of that for which we came to see,

Sculpt the image, mould from clay

The godlike being we must be,

Hold the hounds of death at bay,

Destroy the night and save the day.