The mirrors smashed
in a thousand years of rage
the castle became a whorehouse
for the middle-aged,
young dogs on cocaine
praying for the mighty dollar.
Lost in the labyrinths of lust,
spreading agony around
in high-tech advertisement,
the burning circle
of the multinational chic.
The scientific conclusion:
‘Just a little red pill for the living dead
to make them smile again’.
The latest fashion doing the strand
on the top of the raging volcano,
the manipulated beauty's are dancing
on the empty beats of the machine.
The thorns are broken,
the air is tired,
the next page beyond the roses,
the Garden natural and clear,
the unwritten books are open
for experiment
deep inside the harmonious centre
of eternity.
Faithful in the moment
without a beginning or an end.
Be a King, be a Queen,
be a servant for the people
deep within,
this is the Kingdom.
Who are you?
Where are you now?
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