"There's a war goin' on"

Wrote this into my diary on 12th June...........

There's a war goin' on,
An' feels like I'm in the middle.
Between my Goddesses an' dragon-kings.
Fightin' o'er land, and Magic Kingdoms,
With many sides of “Good and Evil”.

A war of words, magic spells and incantations.
Made into guns and violent beliefs.

Off-shore and off-orb foreign invaders,
In for the booty of this, Great Mutha Land.

They laugh in defence, against “chakra-attack”.
To, shut-out hexes, sealed from the vex.
Focus elsewhere, protect their light,
But make mockery of Intellect and Path to Wisdom.

In a 6,000 year 'blink-of-the-Cosmic-eye'
The Witch's eye made blind.
Made all into puppets, now? TOO LATE!
Program ended - planet's software crashes...
DELETE - DELETE

Plague of the Soul - cult captures minds,
Secreted motive - kill the Inner Divine.
Occult Councils - lost in own delusions
of grandeur, and warped extrusions.

“The Chosen Tribe” - a Mighty Call,
In perpetual, imperceptible delicate balance.
Flocking lost in psychic desert.
Desperate - lash-out - at any prey.
Meanwhile, in another “office”
A witchcraft brew boils in vein hope
To bring us back to “The Way”.

But, entranced by their own internal demons
those who open and play can't stop
The foul things they do and say.

Caught in the global loop of lost insatiety
Like Soul-less drones, they do to me
What they would not have others do to them.

And my Goddesses too, are chained to this loop.
And family, and “friends” who wanted in envy to play.

And me? Barely awake, a rag-doll
thrown every way.
A fabricated myth - born to endure.
Steeling y heart, mind and Soul,
For the last act, the final play.

Each battle I cross, sheds more of my skin,
Leaving less to attack, less for the enemy to get-in.

'Til I am none but Raw Spirit
Immortal - never dead
But all is illusion
And the uncarved No Thing, my Timeless bed.

But claiming no height, no vertical advantage
Feel many more lives, yet on higher plains, to play
Back to Alpha Centauri,
Or steps Shrimad Bhagavatum, along the way.

The deserving up too, stilling their Souls.
Comprehend the fullness of what I was conceived to relay.

So what of “Dunrobin”, of Earthly Thrones?
Of Goddesses Immortal, of mortal desires?

The Mysterious Female? Apples from the Tree of Knowledge?
Sharing, cavorting, with no Sound Traditions
While all round, giggling ghosts occupy and play.