Our Guiding Star
© Surazeus
2017 11 14
Because I cannot hear the ringing phones
that clatter through the sterile halls of schools
I race down to Hell to hear the Ramones
howl the bitter anguish of broken fools.
After he pushes her against the wall
and breaks her eye with blind misogyny
she opens transient doors in the dark hall
to program music in her progeny.
She wanders singing on the sunless moor,
chanting names in mist of forgetfulness
till the buried giant calls her his whore
and crowns her empress for her tardiness.
When she finds me encased in Stone of Scone
she pulls rusty sword from my rotten heart
and while I play tunes on the last bird bone
she designs the new world history chart.
Whenever we try to leave city streets
the weird algebra of sociology
recalculates the rhyme of our heartbeats
so we dream the truth of biology.
The broken clown who sings on stage of fame
armors his wounded heart in leather coat
while the princess who designed my new name
takes me to Isle of Death on rotting boat.
I wander on that island of lost souls,
hoping to remember the secret name
of the stranger I love who plays both roles
of virgin and whore in our marriage game.
She swallows the snake from the apple tree
of the knowledge of good and evil, torn
from the heart of the world beyond the sea
where the dancing god of death was reborn.
I drive my white car in gold shining rain
on endless roads that wind through city maze,
amazed at the virtual world in my brain
that generates truth from my active gaze.
Instead of chanting spells of songs I dream
I carve vision Runes on tablets of ice
so tales of adventure that my words beam
lead wandering tribes back to paradise.
The world of illusions where we all dwell
bursts out of my brain like the apple tree
whose fruit rejuvenates us for a spell
which urges us to pretend we are free.
The whole illusion of our nation state
crumbles into puzzle of memories
so we build new cathedral without fate
to reveal the truth with encoded keys.
The universe is a structure of atoms,
which actions construct and destruct through change,
woven by desire in spiraling stratums
to express our complete spiritual range.
She plays melodies on my aching heart
so I sing epic tale of human life
that reveals patterns of power in flow chart,
how evolution transforms us through strife.
Who can hear now through the bright swirling mist
last song of the angel howling in rage
against dying light of the divine fist
that knocked him off the Olympian stage?
Gaze at rain clouds where rays of sunlight beam,
watching for your Messiah with loud guitar
who sings to revive the American dream
that shines from Liberty our guiding star.
© Surazeus
2017 11 14
Because I cannot hear the ringing phones
that clatter through the sterile halls of schools
I race down to Hell to hear the Ramones
howl the bitter anguish of broken fools.
After he pushes her against the wall
and breaks her eye with blind misogyny
she opens transient doors in the dark hall
to program music in her progeny.
She wanders singing on the sunless moor,
chanting names in mist of forgetfulness
till the buried giant calls her his whore
and crowns her empress for her tardiness.
When she finds me encased in Stone of Scone
she pulls rusty sword from my rotten heart
and while I play tunes on the last bird bone
she designs the new world history chart.
Whenever we try to leave city streets
the weird algebra of sociology
recalculates the rhyme of our heartbeats
so we dream the truth of biology.
The broken clown who sings on stage of fame
armors his wounded heart in leather coat
while the princess who designed my new name
takes me to Isle of Death on rotting boat.
I wander on that island of lost souls,
hoping to remember the secret name
of the stranger I love who plays both roles
of virgin and whore in our marriage game.
She swallows the snake from the apple tree
of the knowledge of good and evil, torn
from the heart of the world beyond the sea
where the dancing god of death was reborn.
I drive my white car in gold shining rain
on endless roads that wind through city maze,
amazed at the virtual world in my brain
that generates truth from my active gaze.
Instead of chanting spells of songs I dream
I carve vision Runes on tablets of ice
so tales of adventure that my words beam
lead wandering tribes back to paradise.
The world of illusions where we all dwell
bursts out of my brain like the apple tree
whose fruit rejuvenates us for a spell
which urges us to pretend we are free.
The whole illusion of our nation state
crumbles into puzzle of memories
so we build new cathedral without fate
to reveal the truth with encoded keys.
The universe is a structure of atoms,
which actions construct and destruct through change,
woven by desire in spiraling stratums
to express our complete spiritual range.
She plays melodies on my aching heart
so I sing epic tale of human life
that reveals patterns of power in flow chart,
how evolution transforms us through strife.
Who can hear now through the bright swirling mist
last song of the angel howling in rage
against dying light of the divine fist
that knocked him off the Olympian stage?
Gaze at rain clouds where rays of sunlight beam,
watching for your Messiah with loud guitar
who sings to revive the American dream
that shines from Liberty our guiding star.
No comments:
Post a Comment