Divine Harmonious Chord
© Surazeus
2017 10 22
The quiet dusk of evening in the trees
reveals ancient secrets of life and death
encrypted in the writhing chirps of birds
that carry my memory on quick breeze
deep enough into the sun of my breath
that I must invent ten thousand new words.
Though men, who fancy they act on the stage
of political power, play frantic chess
of public spectacle on glowing screen
of televisions, I hide on the page
of my new bible key to the address
of Heaven where all die in the last scene.
The old woman in the dead raven tree,
who teaches my aching heart how to sing
magic spells written on petals of flowers,
gives me lyre to set every trapped soul free,
but I wander lost with my broken wing,
locked in some blind room of her stricken towers.
The laurel crown she once placed on my head
withers in the red wheel barrow of truth
where white chickens lay eggs in my mute heart,
so after the last king has fallen dead
I will escape Heaven as the blind sleuth
who weaves legends in our national chart.
I walk the wind-battered beach on wild sand
that whispers down dunes to calculate wealth
stolen from the hard-working hands of fools
whose mute ghosts still haunt their lost renamed land
so I enter temple of gods through stealth
I learned from the clown who invented tools.
I mold mud into faces of the dead
and hang them staring on the cobwebbed wall
while the many-faced god recites their names
to record their deeds on thick plates of lead
that stand ten million years in shining hall
where generations of children play games.
Look deep enough into the blank abyss
where horror churns sweet chaos into honey
and you will see in mirror of my eyes
true face of the goddess who demands a kiss
but keeps my hands if I cannot give money
though I still know the light code of the skies.
Everything that ever happens persists
rippling waves of cause and effect through force
of atoms woven in vast web of souls
who dream the moment swirling atom twists
through spiral of time from the beaming source
that spins the world forever on light poles.
So when I rise from lake of eyes at dawn
I watch the sun originate from gloom
to beam the world of forms from naked dreams
though I am the child of both king and pawn
when I sing geometric shapes in room
where my heart waterfalls in wrenching streams.
Though we explore the endless labyrinth
of social rules beyond the wall of law
we cannot find the hall of singing girls,
yet she stands in white with blue hyacinth,
translating for me the wise raven caw
whose spell explains why atomic world whirls.
I wake astonished from ten thousand years
of copulating to attain rebirth,
and thus evolve monkey to man to god,
but stand now on the mountain, gripping spears,
to battle for the unity of Earth,
while worshippers hide within its facade.
If anyone finds their way through the maze
of our memories, mapped by cosmic tales
that calculate how archetypes record
fierce contest for power through nostalgic phase,
translate our lives in intricate details
that vibrate our divine harmonious chord.
© Surazeus
2017 10 22
The quiet dusk of evening in the trees
reveals ancient secrets of life and death
encrypted in the writhing chirps of birds
that carry my memory on quick breeze
deep enough into the sun of my breath
that I must invent ten thousand new words.
Though men, who fancy they act on the stage
of political power, play frantic chess
of public spectacle on glowing screen
of televisions, I hide on the page
of my new bible key to the address
of Heaven where all die in the last scene.
The old woman in the dead raven tree,
who teaches my aching heart how to sing
magic spells written on petals of flowers,
gives me lyre to set every trapped soul free,
but I wander lost with my broken wing,
locked in some blind room of her stricken towers.
The laurel crown she once placed on my head
withers in the red wheel barrow of truth
where white chickens lay eggs in my mute heart,
so after the last king has fallen dead
I will escape Heaven as the blind sleuth
who weaves legends in our national chart.
I walk the wind-battered beach on wild sand
that whispers down dunes to calculate wealth
stolen from the hard-working hands of fools
whose mute ghosts still haunt their lost renamed land
so I enter temple of gods through stealth
I learned from the clown who invented tools.
I mold mud into faces of the dead
and hang them staring on the cobwebbed wall
while the many-faced god recites their names
to record their deeds on thick plates of lead
that stand ten million years in shining hall
where generations of children play games.
Look deep enough into the blank abyss
where horror churns sweet chaos into honey
and you will see in mirror of my eyes
true face of the goddess who demands a kiss
but keeps my hands if I cannot give money
though I still know the light code of the skies.
Everything that ever happens persists
rippling waves of cause and effect through force
of atoms woven in vast web of souls
who dream the moment swirling atom twists
through spiral of time from the beaming source
that spins the world forever on light poles.
So when I rise from lake of eyes at dawn
I watch the sun originate from gloom
to beam the world of forms from naked dreams
though I am the child of both king and pawn
when I sing geometric shapes in room
where my heart waterfalls in wrenching streams.
Though we explore the endless labyrinth
of social rules beyond the wall of law
we cannot find the hall of singing girls,
yet she stands in white with blue hyacinth,
translating for me the wise raven caw
whose spell explains why atomic world whirls.
I wake astonished from ten thousand years
of copulating to attain rebirth,
and thus evolve monkey to man to god,
but stand now on the mountain, gripping spears,
to battle for the unity of Earth,
while worshippers hide within its facade.
If anyone finds their way through the maze
of our memories, mapped by cosmic tales
that calculate how archetypes record
fierce contest for power through nostalgic phase,
translate our lives in intricate details
that vibrate our divine harmonious chord.
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