Purple heart of a butterfly

A generation
with X-ray visions
decorated with purple hearts
from the butterfly movement,
dreaming devotional
inside the open gates of the blue Mother.

The red ants consuming plastic,
the wires are shaking
rolling stones kept tumbling
when they moved freely through muddy waters.

The beats hit the Elysium
and grinned around the smoke,
the mirror machine gets overheated
in the pastoral scent of passion
beside the highway of illusion.

The scanning is complete,
there is nothing to search for,
beside the Self, the open source
let it Be.

A Mirage

The bear broke through
in oil concessions,
dealing fear
in the monetary maze.

I have tasted their crawling
in the torturing flames,
the war lords are dreaming
in their satellite constructions
of agony and pain.
The ancient books proclaiming:
“turn the other cheek.”
One the magic number!
The source is always free.

The dragon had his illusionary victory
with a broken spear of destiny,
and forgot about the infinite measures
of eternity.

More crap to buy
on every corner.