Mobile of Angels

Slow descent into murkiness of mind, an uneasy fog, a familiar face

The paralyzed walk of the dreamer, innocent, receptive

What will he see at the end of the world, the edges of perception?

A cold and crowded forest closes in on one long aisle

A cover erected to shroud some strange attraction

Familiar face conveys with telepathic quality, gravity, severity, attend to what is hidden here

Cloudy eyes grow clearer as a ring emerges downward bearing shapes so full of beauty and of terror

The sound of an organ drifts on air and soon it fills the dreamer's ears

There gleam the fangs of wet lipped angels

Their eyes show no serenity, but glow with stark insanity, infusing such into the fear-bound dreamer

Poor dreamer, waking brings no comfort