2016 04 10
Without keys forged in flames of love who could
open broken doors jammed shut by desire
to live beyond death reflected backward
by mirror that combines dream-weaving eyes
of seven billion people who all speak
one language invented from sticks and stones
by blind woman living in ring of signs
who knows name of every person who lives.
When you wake in white room of nameless boy
and cannot remember your name or goal
for running through ten thousand doors of hope
that lead at last to this moment in space,
you will find your original tribe father
as young boy sitting at round table stiff
from excitement as dreams flow from his eyes.
Young nameless boy whose father is all men
catches pieces of broken angel wing
from thousands of memories we all share,
and assembles enormous puzzle globe
in comprehensive atlas of world history
that records path across landscape of lust
every person who ever lived on Earth
blazed on quest to unite nations of souls.
We are not statues of stone on grass hill
and we do not eat flowers on lake shore
that sprout from broken skulls of warriors
for we are statues of glass with ten eyes
forged into diamonds by laughter and tears
because, after all, no one can perceive
real person behind mask we carve from words.
I hide your names in stones on hill of dreams
where sun gleams forever gold through light mist
so you carry baskets in hunt for eggs
but instead you find keys to broken doors
that line infinite hall where you must guess
which one will open on bright universe
where gold trophy waits for winner to claim,
but true way back to real atomic world
will vanish if you fail to sing to trees.