Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Wonderland I Create

Wonderland I Create
© Surazeus
2017 04 05

Though words in books swirl into muddy streams
of horror at complete blankness of death,
that sparks regret for shouting in blind rage
when people fail to perform ideal gestures
that would maintain systemic health of growth,
he buries the book in dark backyard garden
so no one sees the shame smeared on his face.

Before the sun shoots needles through his eyes,
because the rain refused to fertilize
seeds of unnamed hope that pierce rancid soil
of his heart, he drives three hundred miles south
to hide behind the bush on desert hill
where Yahweh once spoke to prophet of rules
from writhing flames of agony, then laughs
at how birds fly graceful swoops without thought.

Backward through every door he ever crossed,
to find the first mirror on breathing wall
where he saw his own face, he traces path
of evolution in deep swirling sea
since the first sperm pierced the first dreaming egg
that transformed our soul from light into flesh,
and gave us eyes to see the spirit flame,
yet fails to find the secret code of life
that would explain the obvious reason why.

Laughing at false security of faith,
chained in blind laws of ideology,
he dances light on the telephone line
that connects seven billion pulsing homes
around the spinning planet in one web.

Staring through the window of silent rain,
that reflects weird sunlight of wordless truth,
he dismantles the cathedral of doctrine
erected by priests for two thousand years,
and clears lies from the meadow of his mind
so he can plant by the river of eyes
the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil
that the first father of his tribe chopped down
because he feared spells of the singing serpent.

Standing blind on the river shore at dawn,
he throws away the bible of old tales,
written by kings six thousand years before,
then climbs the mountain where no temple stands
and listens to the song of wind and rain
that writes new tales in the soil of the Earth
where children spring from the rays of the Sun.

After new Tree of Stories sprouts from book
he buried in rotten lust of his heart,
he saws its wood into white planks of hope
then carves Runes of Ideas to record
each moment some human woke from their dream
while puzzling over problem of survival
and saw clear vision at flash of insight
that reveals mystery at heart of our world.

After erasing address numbers off
the door of every house around the world
he paints Rune of Secret Image in Code
that reveals the clandestine quest for truth
each occupant of that house investigates
through intricate labyrinth of desire
to break through boundaries of linking rules
that restrict ornate functions of our brains.

Now docking ship of state in harbor bay
where travelers seek refuge from cold war,
he integrates in mythic code of laws
new psychic tales of failure and success
to subsume their strange new experience
in national book of heroes who embrace
the Statue of Liberty with compassion
which assimilates lost souls in one drama
recording algorithm of true love.

After staring at the dead tree of crows
that weeps tears of maple syrup, he cries,
"Instead of forming political state
on the nation of one genetic tribe,
descended from one father we call God,
we assimilate people from all tribes
in one nation founded on liberty
and justice for all, based on equal rights,
yet we must elect someone to play God
and maintain our system of honest laws."

Complicit with the program of empire
that will encompass in one world religion
all national deities worshipped as alive,
he sits alone in tower of diamond eyes
to compose symphonies for singing souls
who wander all together, yet alone,
on streets of ten thousand cities where rain
veils doorways to every possible world
which combines every multiverse of hope
we invent into one real world of atoms.

"You are all each one interlocking piece
in vast ever-changing puzzle of masks
that glitter as aspects of one bee eye,"
he whispers unheard in blustering storm wind
that blasts over a thousand cityscapes
where people huddle to escape cold rain,
though drops of light soak into their sponge brains
so we see history of our universe
flash before our eyes on computer screens.

Designing idols which project huge egos
in scheme of salvation that targets fools,
he replaces ambition with Nirvana
in objective plan for evolving souls
through mental method leading eager people
on Way of Peaches to the secret bourne
hidden in the forest of ardent faith
where lovers dance in the goal of moonlight.

Laughing in the solemn church of false faith
at believers who repeat sterile prayers,
he cuts every word from their sacred scriptures,
then rearranges them on river shore
so they sprout into brambles that enclose
holy temples in convoluted laws,
but, when he tries to explicate how prayers
might fail to activate physical process
of metamorphosis through gusts of breath,
they hide behind gold masks their god devised.

Spooling secret code that programs our brains
with visions of stories humans endure,
which sustains virtual world our brains create,
he calculates swelling clash of world views
when opposing languages detonate
harmonious tones of cosmic melodies
to burgeon new paradigms from old myths
that syndicates conspiracy of truth
to evolve new world view we all can share.

Stealing gold lyre of Orpheus, who drowned
in river of fantasy he devised
to fool fools with lie of the afterlife,
he climbs flat-top pyramid at the heart
of our multinational empire of banks,
and gazes through the crystal Eye of Truth,
that reveals unspoken dreams of our minds,
then chants new bible we all write together,
and we sing along in ten thousand tongues.

So when the little girl with seven eyes,
leading her lamb into bright court of Heaven,
gives him new mask she carved from Tree of Life,
God wears it to hide blinding soul of light
by holding it over sphere of the sun,
and then we laugh with joy to realize
we look at ourselves in Mirror of Souls.

Setting his young daughter safe on his knee,
God smiles and gazes in her twinkling eyes,
and says, "My name is Godin, and I am
your father, so I will name you Gothina,
and you will rule all the nations of Earth,
for your mother Gearthe is queen of all,
united nations in land of Gothinia
where every person is equal in law."

Grunting as alarm on my eye phone beeps,
I sit on the edge of my bed at dawn
and rub my hair while I gaze out the window
at red sun gleaming through trees by the lake,
and for a moment flashes of my dream
illuminate my eyes with weird sensations
of people gathered in huge ring of stones
that shimmers from fires in high mountain grove,
but just before I think I understand
what my mother was explaining to me
the virtual world of my dream vanishes.

Humming melodies about apple trees,
I drive my white car under shining star
along ancient road where the laughing toad
points the way to Wonderland I create.

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