Puzzles Within Puzzles

Puzzles Within Puzzles
© Surazeus
2017 11 05

Through puzzles within puzzles, that conceal
dramatic insights into nothingness,
I race through the labyrinth of deceit
that winds through vast maze of politics
to find that men who bully other men
play god and king and pope and president,
controlling people groups with one world view
to reenact the way their founder saw
the basic meaninglessness of all life,
but sang visions of beauty anyway.

While standing outside my suburban home
in cool autumn dawn where pumpkins still sing,
I saw vision of the young brown-skinned girl
who was wearing a pretty yellow dress,
walking to school in small quaint southern town
one hundred years before this quiet hour,
when white men racing by in large black trucks
fired bullets that pierced her soft beating heart,
then she fell in grass, stared at empty sky,
and died without tears while singing, "Why? Why?"

I see four men with different colored skin,
red, yellow, black, and white, standing together
on one-tree hill, beneath the bloody sky,
holding hands and vowing respect for women,
for they create bodies that beam our souls,
while two hundred nations of angry men
battle to control all our spinning globe,
that spirals nowhere through vast empty space,
over who will eat the apples of Heaven
while I sit alone in my yard and laugh.

This teeming chaos of atomic forms
surges forth in waves of organic creatures
who consume each other in games of power,
devouring thick bodies of molecules
to assimilate their sparkling energy
in the constant process of evolution
that blossoms from the crystal of the mind
who dreams the metamorphosis of souls
in strange puzzle of life and death that plays
kaleidoscopic dreams inside my eyes.

While sitting in my quiet Georgian garden,
where Jabberwocky snoozes in the woods,
I see fifty thousand poets and singers
contest in cities, sea to shining sea,
to wear the laurel crown Orpheus forged
when he descended to lush Wonderland
and played chess with Pluto to win the soul
of sweet Ophelia, who dances free
with flowers in her hair to Onatah,
but they all die, forgotten by the wind.

Throw away the mask of Orpheus now
and reveal your own true face to the world
so Jack Derrida, clutching candlestick
of Halloween illusions, sees your mind
in the mirror of your words you compose,
because after you die your body rots
and feeds flowers, while the songs of your heart
crystalize the huge barrier reef of legends
that forms the foundation of our religion,
stories that bind our minds in one world view.