The Psychedelic Trilogy of Infinity

Phase I — Descent

 

The stars fell down like shattered bone,

The sky unstitched by fire and moan,

The oceans rose, the cities screamed,

The world unmade what once it dreamed.

 

The towers wept their molten tears,

Their spines collapsed through smoke and gears,

The earth convulsed, a dying tune,

Beneath the ruins of the moon.

 

Ash filled the lungs of every wind,

The clocks ran backward, wings unpinned,

The rivers burned in crimson seams,

And time dissolved in fractured dreams.

 

I stood amid the breaking stone,

The gods long fled, the flesh alone,

And through the dust I heard my name—

A whisper coiled in static flame.

 

It said, “Descend, O child of breath,

Through dream’s abyss, through living death,

The end of worlds is but the door

To countless worlds that came before.”

 

I reached, I fell, I could not scream,

The ground became a thinning seam,

And through the cracks of mind and sky,

I slipped where worlds forgot to die.

 

The seas became a whirling glass,

Reflecting ghosts of futures past,

And each reflection, once it burned,

Returned to ash, and ash returned.

 

The sun unspooled its golden thread,

It wove through all the waking dead,

Each face I knew became my own,

Each voice a chord of undertone.

 

The air was thick with mirrored haze,

The echoes sang in endless phrase,

“You dream, you fall, you wake, you spin,

Each end a gate that folds within.”

 

The mountains folded, paper-thin,

Their veins of fire turned cold within,

The clouds were carved in human eyes—

They blinked and dreamt of my demise.

 

I reached the heart where silence hums,

Where every nightmare slowly comes,

And found beneath the dying spire

A door of smoke, a mouth of fire.

 

Its hinges breathed, its handle sighed,

The void within was amplified,

And though I trembled, burned, and bled,

I stepped beyond what “I” had said.

 

Then downward through the spiral glare,

Through gears of bone and strands of air,

I fell through dreams of dreams undone—

A thousand moons, a single sun.

 

Each layer whispered, “Wake again,”

But waking was another chain,

Each breath a deeper, softer scream,

Each heartbeat folded in a dream.

 

And when at last no motion stayed,

No self, no sound, no light arrayed,

I saw the shape of sleep’s abyss—

A fractal wound, a holy kiss.

 

Phase II — Ascent

 

I rose through veils of molten glass,

Where echoes birthed what could not pass,

Each breath a door, each door a flame,

Each step a world that spoke my name.

 

The night rebuilt its broken frame,

The dawn returned, yet not the same,

The air was sweet with neon rain,

And memory sang through every vein.

 

I walked through cities spun from dust,

Their spires of chrome and faith and rust,

The people smiled with borrowed eyes,

Their laughter stitched from lullabies.

 

They called me waker, called me seer,

But every word bent into fear,

For though I rose through light’s reprise,

The ground above began to rise.

 

The heavens bent beneath my feet,

The stars became a pulsing beat,

The pulse became the heart of me,

The dream became reality.

 

Yet still a voice beneath the hum

Cried, “Rise again, for this is numb;

No waking ends, no dream is true—

Each dawn is only dusk renewed.”

 

So higher still I climbed the gleam,

Each thought a stair, each breath a beam,

And found upon the highest spire

A mirrored self of ash and fire.

 

It spoke, “You sleep within my skin,

And I within your deep begin;

We twist through loops of light and bone—

No soul ascends, it’s all alone.”

 

The mirror cracked; I fell once more,

Through every sleep I’d known before,

Through fields of gods who’d lost their names,

Through suns devoured by their own flames.

 

And down each fall a voice would say,

“To wake is just to lose the day;

To sleep is merely sight reversed;

To live is blessing’s echo cursed.”

 

The fabric tore; the dream bled wide,

I saw myself on every side,

Each version waking, none were free—

Each dreamer dreamed eternally.

 

And laughter rose, both bright and grim,

A cosmic hymn, a broken hymn,

Till silence quivered like a chord—

And I, the dream, became the word.

 

Phase III — Integration

 

The fall was done; the air was still,

Yet mountains moved by ghostly will.

The stars were seeds that bloomed in mind,

Their roots in nothing left behind.

 

The sky was folded into sound,

A heartbeat hummed beneath the ground;

The echo asked, “What wakes in you,

When all the world is breaking through?”

 

The rivers ran with liquid glass,

Reflections drifted, none would pass;

Each face was mine, each eye the sea,

Each wave returned eternally.

 

The dream of waking bent to prayer,

The self unspooled like shining hair,

The silence whispered, soft, complete—

“There is no ground beneath your feet.”

 

So I released the need to climb,

To measure, reason, name, or time;

The pulse that once was breath and pain

Became the world, then hushed again.

 

I felt the dust become my skin,

The wind exhale, the void begin;

Each atom turned, each thought grew mild,

Creation dreaming reconciled.

 

No up, no down, no near, no far—

Just motes of peace in fields of star;

The dream of “I” began to fade,

A mirror where no mark was made.

 

Then every layer, every hue,

Collapsed into a single view:

A stillness vast, a lucid gleam,

The source that births and ends the dream.

 

I breathed that light; it breathed in me,

No edge, no form, no memory—

Only the hum the cosmos sings,

When silence beats its hidden wings.

 

And in that hum, all dreams aligned,

All ends entwined, all selves combined;

The fall, the rise, the lost, the found,

Were circles drawn without a sound.

 

So now I rest where endings start,

No body left, no broken heart;

The dreamer dreams, the dreamer gone—

The dreaming dreams itself alone.

 

Epilogue — The Breath Beyond

 

And then — a breath. No more, no less.

No name to claim, no thought to guess.

The dream still hums beneath the skin,

But peace has found its way within.

 

The stars resume their patient spin,

The tide drifts out, the tide drifts in;

And somewhere, faint, the silence sighs—

The dreamer stirs. The dreamer… dies.

 

Or wakes — no way to mark the seam,

Between the dreamer and the dream.

The world remakes its fragile art—

Infinity sleeps in my heart.