A stupor unseen shrouds our inner light.
No shake awake will brighten up our eyes.
We live our lives unmindful that our sight
is incomplete, and numb to paradise.
And loyal to our pain, we occupy
the birdcage bottom where our pride, our sass
and ignorance, obscures the quest to try
before we die, to plug the parrot's ass.
Concurrent with reality, a way
exists to read events beyond the plain,
where he who sees, must resurvey the fray
and separate the sacred from mundane.
From deep beyond the inner mists is where
we entertain our angels unaware.