The Shaman's Missing Chord
by Michael Doyle

The struggle for life's force,
The mystery in seeking its source,
Blazed as Morrison's eyes glow.
On what side would we learn to know.

It's easier to scare an audience,
Portraying the figure of scorn and diffidence.
Twirling into a dance from the beyond,
Morrison did his best to describe where he had gone.

Missing the pattern and seeking his lost chord,
The poet and madman fell deeply on his own sword.
Riding surrealistic images like breaking waves,
These are the treasures buried in secret graves.

In a celebration of the forlorn Lizard King,
There were always endless passages to sing.
He started his quest for the stars already born.
He would begin his own ascent with locks unshorn.

Unpunctuated puzzles connect the dots as solved.
A closer look finds so much that remains unresolved.
Indulged by words of a mystifying, esthetic energy,
The songs left unsung were made up of his imagery.

Missing the pattern and seeking his lost chord,
The poet and madman fell deeply on his own sword.
Riding surrealistic images like breaking waves,
These are the treasures buried in secret graves.

A man can hurt beyond the point of feeling any hurt.
Standing there staring in the distance of half-alert,
Singing characters into what might pass for life.
Will there be any peace to find after all of this strife?

If he doesn't remember his birth, did it happen as said?
The followed visions that roam inside the shaman's head
Muddy canals and peeling colonnades were filled with sentiment
That told the tale of boots dragged up from the passing sediment.

Missing the pattern and seeking his lost chord,
The poet and madman fell deeply on his own sword.
Riding surrealistic images like breaking waves,
These are the treasures buried in secret graves.

(c) May 20, 2025   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved