Through The Door, Where Dreams Implore, Leaving Questions Asking More

The Fiery Feather Tail

(Written by Jonathan Shaw)

I sat down today and looked up.

I saw a fiery feather fall,

Resembling a sign, like that showed a way

With a secret knock-knock sound.

My ear heard a familiar bird

Pound on the bark of a tree,

Seeking to open the oak tree door,

Hungry, hungry for the worm.

Early rise can get in between the thighs

And feed the belly that cries.

I watch and wait, urging to see

Another fiery feather fall.

The next day I awoke,

It seemed like nothing danced in the sky,

Just gray matter like a Picasso splash of paint,

Imploring, hoping, dreaming to see more.

I entered a new door,

This realm was almost upside down,

As if I was in a snow globe being shaken,

But no real beauty to be found.

The clouds resembled a gunpowdery smoke,

Dark as it was, somehow still able to see,

Fixated on watching this optical illusion view,

Hoping to see the fiery feather fall.

Like a fox's tail spinning in the air,

Trying to take flight on a day,

But no sunshine around, just more cloudy smoke,

Like walking into a bar with cigars lit up all around,

Making it hard to breathe.

I pushed on and passed through another door,

That I grew enough wits to go through.

I had the enigma mind light up,

The symbol of what we know as a question mark,

Drawing my thoughts from my brain and throwing them out on the wall,

Like a dart game bullseye, there was the thought,

I needed to physically see quickly,

I pinched my skin to make sure I was dreaming a real dream.

But why would this fiery feather not show itself again?

I felt as if my complexed mind could not get back

To the zebra-striped door black and white paint,

Sickened people everywhere, looked out with their mouths wide open,

It's the belly of the beast that can't seem to stop its hunger madness is sanity,

Everyone down here had the mark on their skin,

It was numerical but symbolic,

Almost as if the brand was what kept them all confined,

Trapped in their own insanity mental prison.

They walked on coals that seemed hot as a blaze,

But each step they took, they just strolled on by,

As if they never noticed the path they walked was inferno flames rotting meat walkers for their feet.