2017 03 23
I hear stark voice cry in the wilderness
that calls out to people who wander lost
claiming they know the way to paradise
but wander circles under empty skies
so they follow dreams flashing in their eyes,
another blind messiah in the rain
that soaks apple seeds on slopes of Parnassus.
I find the prophet in the wilderness
who studies old map of circles and lines
trying to find the way to the halls of heaven
where the mad king feasts in tower of gold
while his people wander lost in the waste land
clutching apple seeds in the hot dry wind
that bewilders ghosts on slopes of Parnassus.
I see wandering lost in the wilderness
ten thousand poets groping in the dark
who scratch split verses with sticks in the sand
to calculate how the brain perceives truth,
each one claiming to be the only one
who deserves the laurel crown of Orpheus
whose skull chatters spells on slopes of Parnassus.
The nameless Sibyl of the wilderness
who once reigned on the pyramid as goddess
gives me star-jewels to replace my eyes
and teaches us how to classify dreams
that generate virtual world of ideas
which helps us navigate vast maze of lies
through shining city on slopes of Parnassus.
The blind poet who rules the wilderness
with pencil and ruler to measure myth
sketches blueprints of archetypal tales
that design characters of tragic plays
who spring to life as Superman Messiah
they claim created the whole universe
in frail toy model on slopes of Parnassus.
I play broken lyre in the wilderness
to reweave the fabric of space and time
in the rhythmic dance of meter and rhyme
which generates the matrix of our brain
reflecting vast clusters of galaxies
so we dance circles around fires in rain
to worship Death Love on slopes of Parnassus.