Not so much a poem as a rather futile attempt to capture the essence of one small part of a vision I experienced in the Amazon jungle while working with the shamans there and drinking ayahuasca, the visionary brew also known as the legendary Vine of Souls. There was much more but, as I say, one mind cannot contain it all.

There is so much beauty in this world
One mind cannot contain it.
We are just frail humans, dwarfed by night
And the distant specks of light that shine there,
Each of them a single thought in the mind of some lost god.

On another world like ours, some strange distant magic is coming into being.

In the pink and mauve of our primitive sky
The clouds are the dreams of the Infinite,
Skittering like birds across the moon.
It is timeless on our silent world of water
And our lost god is breathing through our skins.

We share our genes with jungle trees,
The air of night and forest things,
All of them evolving too, like some lost gods.
New forms of beauty, expressions of form,
Holy and no different to us.

On another world like ours, some strange distant magic is coming into being.

We are the Beautiful Mutants,
Precious cosmic children who roll and fall and play
In the down of new sensations,
Evolving into stars.
And our lost god is pleased with us today.