Sunday, April 16, 2017

Cycle Of Death And Birth

Cycle Of Death And Birth
© Surazeus
2017 04 16

Saturn savors the warm glow of the sun
by the Lake of Dreams at the dawn of time
while sitting on stone on slope of Parnassus
and watches horses drink from sparkling fountain.

Each time some person somewhere in this world
is killed by bomb or gun in brutal war
I feel their anguish in my throbbing heart
and they are buried in pores of my skin.

Though flowers and fruit bloom again in spring
from seasonal cycle of death and birth
generated by spinning of our world
those people killed will not be resurrected.

When Ishtar leads me from my quiet home
she shows me cemetery of dead souls
where they sleep forever inside my head
but never resurrects them from their graves.

The vibrant sparkle of our consciousness
glows bright from dreaming function of our brains
that organizes memories in tales
in which we star till death dissolves our souls.

Those priests who promise afterlife in heaven
blind our eyes with lie they think describes truth
but when I walk around the lake of dreams
I feel the sun thread light in everything.

Though I dream all the history of our world
during my journey to discover truth
this vision in my head will dissipate
as rain that sparkles seeds to sprout tall trees.

Bright atoms that compose the tangled web
woven in flashing neurons of my brain
crumble from intricate network of cells
and swirl nowhere, blown by indifferent wind.

Billions of people blasted by harsh war
dissolve to swirls of dust that concoct mountains
then roots of trees suck their atoms in fruit
so I consume their atoms when I eat.

While standing in ring of stones in moonlight,
I hold fresh-baked loaf of bread in my hand
and chant, this bread is body of the Earth,
so eat it in remembrance of soil and fire.

While standing in flow of stream in sunlight,
I hold fresh-brewed cup of wine in my hand
and chant, this wine is blood within the Earth,
so drink it in remembrance of water and air.

When I explore the mountain trail alone
I hear the voices of everyone killed
explaining secret of eternal life
how sperm and egg reincarnate new soul.

I feel biological urge of lust
to procreate children in pulsing flesh
motivate my actions to race for life
so I dance singing on the river shore.

When I look at my face in silver mere
I see the faces of everyone killed
so I recite their names and deeds of life
while spelling secret names in shifting sand.

I hobble old and frail on signless road
and tear pages from every book I wrote
to leave them scattered on the barren waste
where seeds of words grow in forest of trees.

I carve each tree in statue of some person
who lived and breathed in dream of spinning world
and then direct them while they sing as choir
to harmonize the visions of our hopes.

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