Statue Inside Paradise
© Surazeus
2017 04 23
Through the prism of social media
I catch a glimpse of the poetry scene
that thrives across land of America,
composed of a thousand small local groups
of people chanting verse in coffee shops
who each construct poetic paradise
then throw snowballs at each other and laugh.
Tall statue inside paradise gleams bright,
guiding me through waste land of silent wind,
but when I knock on gate of iron bars
that leads through garden wall to flowing fountain,
the jewel-eyed angel with a flaming sword
drives me back into dry wilderness.
Running from the beast with soul-ripping teeth,
I clutch an iron wand buried in dirt
to fight against annihilating despair,
and crush its skull while chanting song of truth,
then I drink its hot blood and eats its flesh
to become the angel with flaming sword
who devours the beast of horrible death.
Trembling in the dark cave of naked fear,
where I hide from hordes of more hungry beasts,
I strike the wall of mute death with my wand
that shatters silence to release a fountain
gushing clear water from the heart of darkness.
Carving blocks of stone from mountain of time,
I create my paradise of fruit trees
by ordering chaos in the wilderness
then surrounding it with protecting walls
to keep my family safe from death a while,
my little Cosmos from infinite space.
Wandering in the waste land of hungry hope,
I gather seeds that fell from withered plants
and plant them by the secret bubbling fountain
that I hide inside wall of angry stone.
At midnight inside gray stone garden walls
I see moonlight glitter on silent snow
that hides seeds of hope frozen in my heart.
On top the fertile slope of Mount Parnassus
my garden paradise blooms in warm sun,
so I call to the crowds of hungry people
who wander lost, scratching at withered roots,
then welcome them into my paradise.
We dance around the statue of Apollo,
that stands forever inside paradise,
drinking apple juice and feasting on bread,
while everyone takes turn to stand alone
on pedestal of truth and chant their song,
and thus we bind our hearts in one religion
by sharing secrets of how we survive.
This statue of Apollo we all worship,
is its soul composed of marble or snow?
© Surazeus
2017 04 23
Through the prism of social media
I catch a glimpse of the poetry scene
that thrives across land of America,
composed of a thousand small local groups
of people chanting verse in coffee shops
who each construct poetic paradise
then throw snowballs at each other and laugh.
Tall statue inside paradise gleams bright,
guiding me through waste land of silent wind,
but when I knock on gate of iron bars
that leads through garden wall to flowing fountain,
the jewel-eyed angel with a flaming sword
drives me back into dry wilderness.
Running from the beast with soul-ripping teeth,
I clutch an iron wand buried in dirt
to fight against annihilating despair,
and crush its skull while chanting song of truth,
then I drink its hot blood and eats its flesh
to become the angel with flaming sword
who devours the beast of horrible death.
Trembling in the dark cave of naked fear,
where I hide from hordes of more hungry beasts,
I strike the wall of mute death with my wand
that shatters silence to release a fountain
gushing clear water from the heart of darkness.
Carving blocks of stone from mountain of time,
I create my paradise of fruit trees
by ordering chaos in the wilderness
then surrounding it with protecting walls
to keep my family safe from death a while,
my little Cosmos from infinite space.
Wandering in the waste land of hungry hope,
I gather seeds that fell from withered plants
and plant them by the secret bubbling fountain
that I hide inside wall of angry stone.
At midnight inside gray stone garden walls
I see moonlight glitter on silent snow
that hides seeds of hope frozen in my heart.
On top the fertile slope of Mount Parnassus
my garden paradise blooms in warm sun,
so I call to the crowds of hungry people
who wander lost, scratching at withered roots,
then welcome them into my paradise.
We dance around the statue of Apollo,
that stands forever inside paradise,
drinking apple juice and feasting on bread,
while everyone takes turn to stand alone
on pedestal of truth and chant their song,
and thus we bind our hearts in one religion
by sharing secrets of how we survive.
This statue of Apollo we all worship,
is its soul composed of marble or snow?
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