Friday, May 27, 2016

Haven Of Dancing Skeletons

Haven Of Dancing Skeletons
© Surazeus
2016 05 26

From where I stand, nowhere on spinning globe
of polished faces, I gaze down long road
and see infinite possible worlds bloom
outward through spiraling fan of wild wings
that weave vast galaxies of aching hope
till I step, then half of them disappear.

I built strong wall of stones in circling pale
to enclose haven of secure desire
within paradise of surrounding love
to protect my wife and children from harm,
but even most solid stone will erode
from torrents of tears that degrade resolve.

When my paradise of surrounding walls
that once protected us from slaving chains
transformed into prison that kept me trapped,
I climbed Tree of Life and slipped over wall
after dropping ripe apples in my bag
and walked signless road beyond wall of death.

When I lose everything I made with love
I walk away down empty road of hope
to some far distant town where I replay
role I invented before I was born
through actions that cause flowers to explode
from splattering rain into statues of souls.

To everyone I meet on winding road
I explain why I escaped without books
from my haven of dancing skeletons
where I wove masks of dead souls from their skin
in pages of ancient scroll that reveals
secret name every person wants concealed.

Each universe of possible events,
that unfolds before perception through flash
of laughing lightning consolidates truth,
leads me through labyrinth of open doors
that reflect face which combines every face
in one perfect face till we all drink wine.

I could combine these words ten thousand ways
to weave webs of visions inside our minds,
step on fragile glass bridge, compiled from dreams
we never remember, and leap on wings
of fraudulent promises to cross sea
of bottomless trust, then write this new song.

That is why I turn my back before dawn
and help ancient woman with silver eyes
to board lake boat, then rest on diamond skull
after I steer way through blood-soggy swamp,
and crown myself king of this stone-ring hill
before anyone else steals my true word.

Each action I perform before I die
molds small aspect of giant diamond world
to imitate eye of my brain that weaves
beams of light into virtual world of forms
where all chairs become one standardized chair
which walks behind me on lone dusty road.

If I stop and lie down to rest all day
under Tree of Knowledge near diamond mine,
sorrow will compact memories in words
describing how I propelled myself forth
from cement coffin to assume strong shape
of singing angel mute on temple roof.

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