When I was young I dreamt standing up,
fever pushing one-oh-four…
When I was young I dreamt standing up,
the real is what I look for…
When I was young the ice swirled around the bath,
the thermometer couldn’t do the math.
Sleeping in a puddle of sweat,
waking embarrassed my bed is wet.
Temperature spikes heated up my eyes,
soon enough I’d realize,
reality had shifted.
Drifted, into another dimension,
a young boy who could handle the tension.
Handle he may, handle he might,
it’s no use to put up a fight.
At a certain point the hallucination takes control,
a deeper trip than any I’ve been told.
Young at heart and young in mind,
soon enough I’d feel old and blind.
Does that mean senility?
Is that the gentle penalty?
Or is it the wisdom of the sage
embodied at this young age?
Conflict arises confronting the adolescent mind,
I look and look for something that’s mine,
something to hold onto, perhaps someone,
something honest and bright as the sun.
But I see only darkness when wisdom is nigh,
I can’t turn around to see that sun in the sky.
Stuck in the shadows,
deep in thought.
Traipsing desert meadows,
alone I fought
off my demons,
one by one.
Thrilled by life,
energized – but the sun,
I still couldn’t see it,
I daren’t look,
I know I’d be it,
I don’t wanna cook.
So I turn away,
the vampire emerges,
Feeding on the night,
keeping everyone nervous,
I repent
this daytime visualization,
It’s not solid,
it’s just sedation.
Cause I know the truth
behind your rods and cones,
One day you’ll get it
if your every fully grown.
This reality is so liquid,
physicality ain’t about the Id,
You’ve got to let go,
or it’ll take you over,
These waking hallucinations
keep me sober.
Or somber…
a little melancholy,
I felt I knew what was holy.
I still chose to turn my gaze from it,
I wanted to know simple things
so I dug myself a pit.
A hermetic existence in a flood of humans,
detached from all that I’m daily consuming.
Personification of the intro-vert.
It’s how verticality began.
So I ran.
Looking for the solution,
I ran into people that knew what I was doing.
Ripe for the picking,
ripe for ripping,
ripe for life lessons that are crippling.
But I ain’t tripping,
I’m not falling down,
I may not look up
but I do see the ground.
Mastering the darkness,
embracing my lie.
Looking for the deepest
way my Id can die.
Detaching from emotion,
from what is real,
looking for any way
not to feel.
How can I get there,
to my highest Zen?
Trying to get back
to that place I’ve been.
Realizing that I live
in this standing dream world.
That emptiness is form
and my forms unfurled.
I’m still pressing myself
into a non-existent mold,
Playing my hand,
not knowing when to fold.
But there is a place where wisdom lies dormant,
the way I know although I chose self-torment.
So I reel it in despite the temptation,
to participate in emotional masturbation.
Finding the space where all is clear,
maybe not today or even in years.
Patience my friend will lead the way,
a mantra I’m repeating to this day,
Trust is not easy when the visions are truth,
giving into emotions like a psychic sleuth,
denies the reality that we are here to learn,
denies the truth left after that ego burn.
The flames that lick at my nose,
they’re here to question what I know.
The fire that burns so brightly,
that fire is a fantasy.
Am I flighty?
Am I here to fight?
Can I stand firm despite the light?
Archie Underwood
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