the field is on fire...

i'm dozing in the poppies, shrouded in dreams of ancient fields burning opium vapors and the holy ghosts of yesterday's madness all converging and rising above the vegetation. the field is on fire and we all must bow to the captivating energy, searing earth and fuming, enraptured human beings in the shadow of the saccharine smoke and a translucent desire to sleep forever. we wrap ourselves in separate dreams, ready for our ceaseless slumber, as long as time, if time is the flame and new life keeps growing from the ashes and burning again. my eyes are open but i cannot stand up. i can feel the flames that crackle with endless lament for the somnolent souls. my eyes are open but i cannot stand up. i can feel the pull of the earth itself, the gravity of the smog that surrounds us and grasps us and never lets go. my eyes are open but i cannot stand up. i cannot stand up. i cannot stand up. the field is on fire and we are all captive to the glowing enchantment, the venerable spell of the holy plants that bend and wave in the incensed air of infinity. my eyes are open towards the sky and i can barely move and i can barely feel and i can barely think and i can barely speak but through the smoke to heaven i struggle to hiss my only enduring mantra: "i will never be free, i will never be free, i will never be free"