The Forest
Where do you leadeth me
I long to see thy path
Thickest forest blankets thee
Once begun, there's no turning back
Celtic Isle, beneath foliage skies
A wind whispers 'follow me'
Secret tongues, Gnostic bones
The journey has hold of me
I bare the name of ancient rites
Descendants of wandering tribes
Hunters, gatherers, magicians
We shine as stars
throughout the night
It's my calling to find and recover
The golden vessel
where cherubs stand
One faces east, the other west
Return them to our holy land
Somewhere far, beyond these gates
On top of the good kings mound
Hidden there, beneath the soil
Buried mysteries are surely found
An Egyptian Queen, escapes with her love
From the desert, to lush green hills
Rolling emerald valleys, and distant shores
Their destiny fulfilled
In a word of light, without a lamp
A breath of life, from absolute sentience
We break the bonds of our mortal coil
Humbled, within the presence
Deep within this Phthalo green grove
I feel my Calling throughout my veins
My hunger's fire, drives my destiny forward
As an archer with truest aim
Not born a hero, created as man
Sophia's wisdom I reclaim
I am the Son, I am the One
The world has proclaimed
Amalia Whispers of Fae
Beneath a heavy crimson sky, charges of electric neon flood the airs of night. Naked trees, with cast off leaves, stand as Nephilim reaching high towards the Ether above. Children laugh, point to the MagicK, creating visceral enchantments, above lofty beds of rich green grass. Flashing lights, blink, and hide, and reappear upon a whim. Like fireflies, willow-wisps, dance in circles, round and round round a fire. The childhood innocence draws the fae, from her realm of beauty, just beyond this dimension door. The key between the worlds unlocked, giggle, laughter, play and sing. Curiosity has called the rich benevolent soul, to engage in the frolic of the two young girls. In the distance, illuminated souls, contemplate their very essence. A tragedy struck them long ago, a fire, to a home of five, the youngest just a babe six months is carried by its auroral mother still in her arms. Like stars, reflecting, shining glimpses of spirits, flitter beneath the ceiling of dried elm. Pointing to the sky, the girls celebrate, the thinning of the veil, here there is no line between life and death, the reality is the same. Beautiful fae, sparkling wings, hair of golden spun tresses. Like nothing of this world is she... whispering... enjoy, welcome to the light.
Sister Morphine
The More Phine, The Better
Hollywood 90-94
Things were Crazy back in the day, days blurred together, then into weeks and months...time had no definition, it just passed through us, like ghosts carried on a breeze of after thoughts... never quite tangible, or within reach. Simple echoes, and shadows, and pieces of dreams, never coming into focus, or coming to fruition.
But in our own ways, we thrived, and lived out these dreams. Hollywood pirates, dressed in silk and velvet, lipstick, eyeliner, long before Captain Jack Sparrow took to the seas, we owned the city, the social music scene, with acts of debauchery, fuelled by Crowley, we made sacrifices of our youth, in the name of fortune and fame. Our heads filled with images of sex, drugs, and rock- and-roll. We didn't know it at the time, but that's how we paid our dues....
'Will-o-the-wisp'
Emerald tree Home
To Will-o-the-wisps
Bright
Sprites
Dancing
Through bitter flames
Prancing
Alluring
And fooling
Leading astray
Men, women, children
That have lost their way
Wandering adventurers
Town's folk on rye
Circling
Confusion
Their senses now lie
Devious orbs
At play in the night
Do you hear in the distance
An echo or cry
A haunting
A vessel of
A Mischievous devise
Around and around
Twirling to new heights
Now lost from whence start
There's no turning back
Caught up in the black arts
Tangled and racked
Days turn to weeks
Weeks into months
Months bleed into years
And years come undone
Will-o-the-wisp
Fairies
Spirits of ghosts
Heirs of the forest
Nocturnal hosts
Believe me my friends,
There's more to this tale
Don't fall for their enchantments
The illusions through the veil
The evening remains silent
Not a single crunch of a leaf
Vanished, to aether
Where your soul, he doth keep
Matthew Bowers is a native of New England, born in Springfield Massachusetts. In his youth Bands such as The Doors, The Beatles, and Led Zeppelin were very influential to his later writing. In 1988 he moved to Boston and played the local Rock-Roll scene that was made up at the time of Glam, Rock, and Sleaze Metal.
True to his roots that consisted of the likes of David Bowie, The Rolling Stones and the Finnish punk/ glam band Hanoi Rocks, he moved to Hollywood, California in 1990. Landing in the heart of the Rock Music capital of the world, he began preparing the formation of his band Sister Morphine.
Matthew (Jamie Childs)'s musical background as front-man, vocalist, and lyricist paved the way for his departure from music into writing and poetry. Early writing influences of his consisted of Nick Cave, Tom Waits, Charles Bukowski, Iris Berry, Pleasant Gehman, and David Bowie.
In 2020 Matthew started his own concept of supporting the arts and talents through his vision The Calling. The Calling ranges from Social media groups, Bandlab, Reverbnation, Podcast, YouTube channel, website and online store.
In this last year, Matthew has met wonderful, talented poets, writers, and artists from all over the globe. To coin a familiar Rock-n-Roll phrase, "What a long strange trip it's been"
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