Tenets Of My Religion
© Surazeus
2017 10 10
Brenda leans against the dead willow tree
watching gold sunrays beam like flaming brand
through swirling black rainclouds after wild storm,
and drapes her pale arm tight around his shoulder.
"Whenever I was hurt and got upset
my grandmother would laugh and kiss my cheek,
then stare at the burning sun and declare
in raspy voice grated by cigar smoke.
My dear, in case no one told you today,
I must remind you of the facts of life.
We are born from the lust our parents felt,
we must kill other life-forms to survive,
then we decay in misery and pain
till we die and vanish from the dream time
of this giant ball of dirt that spins lost
in the boundless void of the universe.
On the road of life we will always go
alone in the silent despair of hope,
and, though we attempt to communicate
complex thoughts that clatter inside our mind,
no one will understand our secret soul
like we will never understand their secret soul
they hide behind their mild congenial mask.
Though we deem ourself central to the play
of social life in which we think we star,
important to the process of survival
of our tribe in fierce contests for control,
commissioned by authority to act
with noble intention to produce good,
we are expendable in game of power,
replaced by other people with our skills
when we are damaged or destroyed by time.
All events that happen to us in life
happen for no good particular reason,
just random events of blind chance that clash,
undirected by any conscious mind
who plans and controls events of this world.
No mastermind directs the play of life
so we are each alone on road of time,
designing our own reason to maintain
passionate intensity of desire
that motivates our lust to reproduce.
We did not exist through infinite time
that calculates billions of years of change,
before our parents generated this body
of frail flesh that sustains our dreaming mind,
and after this brief flare of light in gloom,
we call living, we will die, and our mind,
now flashing with visions from memories
that record our experiences of life,
will disperse to swirls of unconscious dust
as the universe sparkles on without us.
After we die our name and all our deeds
will be forgotten, and our memories
will all vanish lost, like tears in the rain,
as if we never existed in flesh.
So cheer up and drink some sweet apple cider,
then invent some meaning for your own life
and live with passion of pleasure and love
to the full capacity of your heart,
so you taste its sweetness and bitterness
before death snuffs out the flame of your soul.
Her words are branded on my beating heart
and illuminate the road that I blaze
through the hostile wilderness of despair.
These tenets form the base of my religion
that guides my progress through the labyrinth
of this weird indifferent waste land of life."
Brenda drinks cider, gulping down sweet juice,
then hands him the jug with a crooked grin,
and birds chirp as rain drops drip from lush leaves.
Kissing his mouth, she pulls him down to lie
hidden among flowers and buzzing bees.
© Surazeus
2017 10 10
Brenda leans against the dead willow tree
watching gold sunrays beam like flaming brand
through swirling black rainclouds after wild storm,
and drapes her pale arm tight around his shoulder.
"Whenever I was hurt and got upset
my grandmother would laugh and kiss my cheek,
then stare at the burning sun and declare
in raspy voice grated by cigar smoke.
My dear, in case no one told you today,
I must remind you of the facts of life.
We are born from the lust our parents felt,
we must kill other life-forms to survive,
then we decay in misery and pain
till we die and vanish from the dream time
of this giant ball of dirt that spins lost
in the boundless void of the universe.
On the road of life we will always go
alone in the silent despair of hope,
and, though we attempt to communicate
complex thoughts that clatter inside our mind,
no one will understand our secret soul
like we will never understand their secret soul
they hide behind their mild congenial mask.
Though we deem ourself central to the play
of social life in which we think we star,
important to the process of survival
of our tribe in fierce contests for control,
commissioned by authority to act
with noble intention to produce good,
we are expendable in game of power,
replaced by other people with our skills
when we are damaged or destroyed by time.
All events that happen to us in life
happen for no good particular reason,
just random events of blind chance that clash,
undirected by any conscious mind
who plans and controls events of this world.
No mastermind directs the play of life
so we are each alone on road of time,
designing our own reason to maintain
passionate intensity of desire
that motivates our lust to reproduce.
We did not exist through infinite time
that calculates billions of years of change,
before our parents generated this body
of frail flesh that sustains our dreaming mind,
and after this brief flare of light in gloom,
we call living, we will die, and our mind,
now flashing with visions from memories
that record our experiences of life,
will disperse to swirls of unconscious dust
as the universe sparkles on without us.
After we die our name and all our deeds
will be forgotten, and our memories
will all vanish lost, like tears in the rain,
as if we never existed in flesh.
So cheer up and drink some sweet apple cider,
then invent some meaning for your own life
and live with passion of pleasure and love
to the full capacity of your heart,
so you taste its sweetness and bitterness
before death snuffs out the flame of your soul.
Her words are branded on my beating heart
and illuminate the road that I blaze
through the hostile wilderness of despair.
These tenets form the base of my religion
that guides my progress through the labyrinth
of this weird indifferent waste land of life."
Brenda drinks cider, gulping down sweet juice,
then hands him the jug with a crooked grin,
and birds chirp as rain drops drip from lush leaves.
Kissing his mouth, she pulls him down to lie
hidden among flowers and buzzing bees.
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