Wow, I’m sick of doubt
Live in the light of certain
South
Cruel bindings
The servants have the power
Dog-men and their mean women
Pulling poor blankets over
Our sailors
I’m sick of dour faces
Staring at me from the TV Tower
I want roses in
My garden bower, dig?
Royal babies, rubies
Must now replace aborted
Strangers in the mud
These mutants, blood-meal
For the plant that’s ploughed
They are waiting to take us into
The severed garden
Do you know how pale and wanton thrillful
Comes death on a stranger hour
Unannounced, unplanned for
Like a scaring over-friendly guest you’ve
Brought to bed
Death makes angels of us all
And gives us wings
Where we had shoulders
Smooth as raven’s claws
No more money, no more fancy dress
This other Kingdom seems by far the best
Until its other jaw reveals incest
And loose obedience to a vegetable law
I will not go
Prefer a Feast of Friends
To the Giant family
The Severed Garden-James Douglas Morrison
City Jackdaw 
The Doors have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, and Jim is a poetical genius. Rest in peace.
LikeLike
Me too. Beatles and Doors. Lennon and Morrison.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very nice indeed. I write poetry, but nothing this deep. Thanks.
LikeLike
I cannot claim credit for this. Jim Morrison himself wrote it.
LikeLike
Wow. . . .
LikeLike
One of the few rock stars who can be taken seriously as a poet.
LikeLike
And remember… “No one here gets out alive.”
LikeLike
Indeed 🙂 I love L.A Woman.
LikeLike
Reblogged this on ashleigh nelson books.
LikeLike
Thanks for sharing.
LikeLiked by 1 person