My Dear Paralysis

My Dear Paralysis

Do you dream of caves, cold and dismal,

Deeply buried far abyssal,
In utter trance, black as the lakes,

Which drown that esoteric place?

Once hours throttle limp your will,

And your hot blood has cooled to chill,

Your pulse has slowed until you're still,

Then dear, you must dream further.

Our planet is a spiny rose,

You pluck its petals as you doze,

You're the summer breeze, and blossom you blow,

My dear, you're adorable sleeping.

Beneath those vaults of inhuman gloom,

Below the mantle of Earth's bloom,

Under the waves of fiery doom,

There is a vale of nectar.

And in that valley was told a poem,

(Like this, but better known,

Published in a collected tome)

And the people dreamt of caves above them.

It related how she dreaded in sleep,

The ghastly dens of that aerial keep,
How when she woke, above her looming,

A paralysis towered, black visage fuming,

His voice was hallucinatory booming,

And so he spoke:

“I am your creation; I cannot die,

A cure for your problem; I cannot apply,

For I am a phantom and I am a lie:

You are alone.”