Ancient Day Of Feast
© Surazeus
2017 12 25
On this cold dark day when the sun seems lost
we light warm fires and share delicious feasts
to celebrate the birth of all our children
by singing stories of heroes who fight
the greed of tyrants to free us from hate,
and give each other gifts of things we make.
Quick oscillations of the searching mind
calculate the coil of cause and effect
that spirals vibrant galaxies of faith
when we sit together by the warm hearth
and exchange stories of our families
which reveal the nexus of life and death.
When nuggets of facts, anecdotes, and proverbs
clatter on the time table of my mind,
I transform their concepts through alchemy
of artistic desire into new shapes
so I conform each puzzle piece to match
my ontological world view of truth.
We find behind the cultural masks of gods
universal archetypes of social roles
invented first by living human beings
whose unique deeds, they performed to survive,
were molded into standard characters
we love to watch in dramas of our myths.
I wear new face from ancient gallery
to strut my hour upon the stage of life
and then retreat to dressing room of church
where gods reveal themselves as fooling clowns
who rehearse the sound and fury of faith
which loyal followers recite in hymns.
So now we gather at glowing world hearth
by tree we decorate with skulls of kings,
and give each other gifts we carved from bones
of howling Earth before the burning dawn,
and sing the memories of our First Mother
who plucked sweet fruit of wisdom from our hearts.
You cannot find me in the labyrinth
of cultural tales I weave from thread of hope
because I leap the walls of normal rules
and sew new visions on world tapestry
which preserves the tales of nameless lost souls
whose faces hide behind the mask of God.
But now I sit beside the cold dark hearth
where no ancient flames of cultural myths glow
because the spirits of their stories flash
from out the anguished glory of our hearts
since we are now alive and wear those masks
our ancestors discarded on the road.
Ten thousand years we gathered round warm hearths
to share rich feasts of stories and old songs
but now state hearth is cold and all their souls
flutter silent around me while I write,
then turn on the large television screen
to watch their spirits flashing beyond death.
I see them play our ancient cultural tales,
talented actors who lived unique roles
of weird characters in dramas of love,
though every one is now dry pile of bones
buried in the breast of the spinning world,
while alone I watch in the house of souls.
Where can we find the solid truths we lost
since vibrant concepts are encased in stones
on which we build foundations of strong faith
which will articulate the standard law
of verifiable facts that we encode
in statements to explain how all things work?
In isolated systems of material
energy cannot be created or destroyed
so pulsing spirit of each molecule
will vibrate with eternal soul of love
no matter how they interact in forms
through constant chemistry of lusting change.
The idiot howling on cathedral steps
expresses anguish stoics rein contained
in graceful motions of civilized faith
to ascend the stairway of heaven high
above the crowded streets of rumbling cars
and hear blind angels sing harmonious hymns.
We kneel before old statues carved in marble
that present forms of the Man and the Woman
who symbolize those ideal characters
that priests declare we all should imitate,
but my own spirit surges bright in me
so I must fight to secure Liberty.
We mold our hearts to shape the truth we know
from each experience that we dramatize
when we go out beyond the bounding wall
of safe paradise to explore the world
and comprehend its weird fantastic truths
because we fly with Icarus through joy.
So join with me on ancient day of feast
to celebrate the process of rebirth
when all we know and love passes away
after generating forms of themselves,
and stories our parents tell us at feast
we tell our own children before we die.
© Surazeus
2017 12 25
On this cold dark day when the sun seems lost
we light warm fires and share delicious feasts
to celebrate the birth of all our children
by singing stories of heroes who fight
the greed of tyrants to free us from hate,
and give each other gifts of things we make.
Quick oscillations of the searching mind
calculate the coil of cause and effect
that spirals vibrant galaxies of faith
when we sit together by the warm hearth
and exchange stories of our families
which reveal the nexus of life and death.
When nuggets of facts, anecdotes, and proverbs
clatter on the time table of my mind,
I transform their concepts through alchemy
of artistic desire into new shapes
so I conform each puzzle piece to match
my ontological world view of truth.
We find behind the cultural masks of gods
universal archetypes of social roles
invented first by living human beings
whose unique deeds, they performed to survive,
were molded into standard characters
we love to watch in dramas of our myths.
I wear new face from ancient gallery
to strut my hour upon the stage of life
and then retreat to dressing room of church
where gods reveal themselves as fooling clowns
who rehearse the sound and fury of faith
which loyal followers recite in hymns.
So now we gather at glowing world hearth
by tree we decorate with skulls of kings,
and give each other gifts we carved from bones
of howling Earth before the burning dawn,
and sing the memories of our First Mother
who plucked sweet fruit of wisdom from our hearts.
You cannot find me in the labyrinth
of cultural tales I weave from thread of hope
because I leap the walls of normal rules
and sew new visions on world tapestry
which preserves the tales of nameless lost souls
whose faces hide behind the mask of God.
But now I sit beside the cold dark hearth
where no ancient flames of cultural myths glow
because the spirits of their stories flash
from out the anguished glory of our hearts
since we are now alive and wear those masks
our ancestors discarded on the road.
Ten thousand years we gathered round warm hearths
to share rich feasts of stories and old songs
but now state hearth is cold and all their souls
flutter silent around me while I write,
then turn on the large television screen
to watch their spirits flashing beyond death.
I see them play our ancient cultural tales,
talented actors who lived unique roles
of weird characters in dramas of love,
though every one is now dry pile of bones
buried in the breast of the spinning world,
while alone I watch in the house of souls.
Where can we find the solid truths we lost
since vibrant concepts are encased in stones
on which we build foundations of strong faith
which will articulate the standard law
of verifiable facts that we encode
in statements to explain how all things work?
In isolated systems of material
energy cannot be created or destroyed
so pulsing spirit of each molecule
will vibrate with eternal soul of love
no matter how they interact in forms
through constant chemistry of lusting change.
The idiot howling on cathedral steps
expresses anguish stoics rein contained
in graceful motions of civilized faith
to ascend the stairway of heaven high
above the crowded streets of rumbling cars
and hear blind angels sing harmonious hymns.
We kneel before old statues carved in marble
that present forms of the Man and the Woman
who symbolize those ideal characters
that priests declare we all should imitate,
but my own spirit surges bright in me
so I must fight to secure Liberty.
We mold our hearts to shape the truth we know
from each experience that we dramatize
when we go out beyond the bounding wall
of safe paradise to explore the world
and comprehend its weird fantastic truths
because we fly with Icarus through joy.
So join with me on ancient day of feast
to celebrate the process of rebirth
when all we know and love passes away
after generating forms of themselves,
and stories our parents tell us at feast
we tell our own children before we die.
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