Transcendental (Poetry)

I slept last night under a magick tree
and beasts, furred and feathered, came to me
they laid at my side, and they whispered low
those things I had long-desired to know.

Their bodies were warm and their hearts were light
and the shadows wrapped soft all the spirit-filled night
as I learned from those creatures what cannot be read
of wisdom once spilled from the lips of the dead.

I swam with the planets and circled the moon
I heard the earth singing and followed its tune
down caverns of consciousness deep in the brain
and those rhythms repeated again and again.

I felt the roots under me tremble and thrill
and the power move through them as breathing grew still
awaiting the miracle — breaking fate’s curse
with the hope-giving bud swelling ready to burst.

I woke quite alone in a strange pastel dawn
my erstwhile companions departed and gone
one feather remained like an echo of prayer
and a faint cloud of musk lingered soft on the air.

Whilst I cannot quite capture — it’s hard to recall
the shapes and the colours, the meaning and all
but my world has shifted some subtle degree
since I dreamed beneath a magick tree.