Poem: The Real Way

The Real Way

This stuff was made the real way,
nowhere anywhere near here.
I am apathetic toward your interest in it,
but this is how it went:
We snuck out using a decoy weaved of elaborate lies, traps and clues.
The elders drank it up like their soma in glass tubes. 
We had much to usurp,
as much within as without.
So, on the brink of giving up,
We came upon a midnight owl
who hooted vague directions
then tried to scratch my eye out.
Fortunately I paid attention in Geology,
for what we found in that valley,
caused our bones to shake the creek,
and in turn oily truisms pooled at our feet.
We had found what we were seeking,
pioneers in the thicket of golden candor.
Nowadays are them old days once more, 
and what little that is left
will never be sought
by those who fail to embody the real way.