The forest of Cannabis

Last summer, I was caught in a blizzard
In the mountains while driving through the curves
The moon was flinching in and out in the heaps of light
The silence of a panoramic hue was breath-taking and weird

I was coughed up  by echoes of brilliant words
Lyrics softly stitched by the phantoms of Phoebe
Its plumage softly wrapping me
Like a wasp cocooned inside a Bohemian beehive

The age old terrain of overlapping waves succumbed me
In the poetic verse of lucid letters
Dressed in a coat of black and white I stared
Into the sacred acrimonious rituals of toxic vibes
The forest of cannabis they called it.

Projected by the whims of lass I decided to carve myself
Into an image of mad grief, with voids and fissures
Trying to run away from the sucking mob
Yet I too became a sheepish man,
With no desires to conquer the legions of Illuminati.