The Mad Man
I am the secretary of madness
I play the flute of creation
To show the foundation with in
Which you must learn to walk upon
Without touching.
Without maring it's perfect surface
With fear.
And woe to the selfish ones
Who must touch the warmth of this surface To satisfy their fears of necessity
And quell the illusions
Which desensitizes sensitivity.
For little do they see,
How the dirt upon their feet
Swells from the energy of the
Foundation.
And sensuality is such a poor shield
To the one who sinks in the quicksand
Of illusion.

I am the madman of manifestation!
The watchman of nothing.
The dispeller of dark
I cut down the warriors of the opaque.
And give birth to the children
Of innocence.
For I am the womb of perpetual
Motion.

Listen!
Hear the light of my flute!
Can you see the cracks
On the walls that imprison
Your heart?
Can you see the walls of fear
Crumble to the feet of your illusion?
Let the light burn away the shields
Which, have turned the air into pain
Feel! How your dried colorless heart
Fills with light as it breaks free
From the rusted chains of reason
Whose games no longer have substance.

Follow my vibration of madness
For it will lead to the foundation.
But beware the whores of purity
They drive the bulldozers of piety
Which will bury you in tradition
And crucify you with self-righteousness.
For they do not dance to my flute
No! they dance to the fiddle of Death!
Who steals his tunes from me!
For I am the secretary of madness
And I play the flute of Eternity!

© 11/3/73
Stevon Lucero