"The author is Poetic Always. Check out his poetic license.
He
doesn't
need it to drive a car, but he needs it to drive you crazy."
"You can eat his words if you have the stomach for it."
ENTER THE POET'S HAVEN THROUGH THIS ARCH
The air is empty now,
It's cold and deathly still,
And there is for just a moment,
This deep felt penetrating chill,
Like a snake uncoiled to make its kill.
It is as though the world had slowed,
As if awaiting to explode,
While the universe had shifted slightly,
Just before it snowed.
There is this terrible deafening roar,
Screams and cries,
And a thousand birds above that soar,
And the trees around me start to shake,
And the ground below me opens up,
As did the empty stomached snake,
In its attempt my life to take.
I'm tossed and tumbled from my feet,
In to what seemed ungodly heat,
And this nauseating noxious smell,
I knew then where I was,
At the portal to the devil's hell.
I'm thinking now for heaven's sake,
This is indeed my final quake,
I lift my head, there is no snake,
The morning sunlight hits my eyes,
I hear a distant child's cries,
And suddenly,
I am awake.
Michael Abramson