Signless Road Of Truth
© Surazeus
2017 12 12
Performance not perfection is the point
of expressing visions that haunt our minds
so we fly through the shadows of despair
and water the fields with tears of our hearts.
At the call of the waterfall of love
I transform into the raven who knows
how to write our story in lightning strikes
which illuminates our words in the wind.
We run into the tunnel of cold eyes
to chase the hawk of time beyond the loop
that channels back the rivers of our veins
so we remember why we build the tower.
Though I drive ten thousand miles of long roads
through cities where robots drive shining cars
I never arrive at the gates of Heaven
where the last queen writes poetry in jewels.
She weaves the strands of my beard in new wings
so I can return through calculus code
to the castle in the sky where I found
the child of Rapunzel and Icarus.
He looks at me in the mirror of hope
so I break through ancient stone walls of laws
and soar among the clouds on rainbow beams
but wake to find that it was all a dream.
My mother Rapunzel taught me the spells
that beam visions of life on silver screen
so I play the role of every great hero
on the theater stage in church of lies.
My father Icarus taught me the skills
to transform wood into wave-leaping ship
and forge stone into sharp sun-flashing sword
so I rule the island of Avalon.
Since that is how Orpheus found my soul
wandering lost on the signless road of truth
and lead me to the temple of First Mother
who first rose from the Lake of Dreams at dawn.
I am not one person who writes this spell
for we are millions of souls in one brain,
alive in every sparkling neuron eye
to preserve every life we ever lived.
I fall back into the shell of my head
and find myself walking on signless road
through sparkling mist to ring of moonlit stones
where my father plays harp in hall of songs.
I stand outside the temple of Stone Henge
and watch my father and mother on stage
playing sacred roles of Jesus and Maria,
conducting the feast of midwinter night.
When the blind wizard asks me my true name,
I reply, I am Godinus, first son
of Apollo and Iduna, the daughter
of Odin who taught me how to write Runes.
They tell me I will reign as Raven King
in Sarum Temple on Avalon Island,
but I want to tend apple trees in mist
rather than conduct rituals for the dead.
I try to escape the fate they decreed
by running away from castle of power
and seek clear visions in the apple grove
so I understand the nature of things.
I erase all the names of my ancestors,
blasting their words from the tablets of stone
with howling wind of my voice, but their eyes
stare at me from the wall of nameless souls.
© Surazeus
2017 12 12
Performance not perfection is the point
of expressing visions that haunt our minds
so we fly through the shadows of despair
and water the fields with tears of our hearts.
At the call of the waterfall of love
I transform into the raven who knows
how to write our story in lightning strikes
which illuminates our words in the wind.
We run into the tunnel of cold eyes
to chase the hawk of time beyond the loop
that channels back the rivers of our veins
so we remember why we build the tower.
Though I drive ten thousand miles of long roads
through cities where robots drive shining cars
I never arrive at the gates of Heaven
where the last queen writes poetry in jewels.
She weaves the strands of my beard in new wings
so I can return through calculus code
to the castle in the sky where I found
the child of Rapunzel and Icarus.
He looks at me in the mirror of hope
so I break through ancient stone walls of laws
and soar among the clouds on rainbow beams
but wake to find that it was all a dream.
My mother Rapunzel taught me the spells
that beam visions of life on silver screen
so I play the role of every great hero
on the theater stage in church of lies.
My father Icarus taught me the skills
to transform wood into wave-leaping ship
and forge stone into sharp sun-flashing sword
so I rule the island of Avalon.
Since that is how Orpheus found my soul
wandering lost on the signless road of truth
and lead me to the temple of First Mother
who first rose from the Lake of Dreams at dawn.
I am not one person who writes this spell
for we are millions of souls in one brain,
alive in every sparkling neuron eye
to preserve every life we ever lived.
I fall back into the shell of my head
and find myself walking on signless road
through sparkling mist to ring of moonlit stones
where my father plays harp in hall of songs.
I stand outside the temple of Stone Henge
and watch my father and mother on stage
playing sacred roles of Jesus and Maria,
conducting the feast of midwinter night.
When the blind wizard asks me my true name,
I reply, I am Godinus, first son
of Apollo and Iduna, the daughter
of Odin who taught me how to write Runes.
They tell me I will reign as Raven King
in Sarum Temple on Avalon Island,
but I want to tend apple trees in mist
rather than conduct rituals for the dead.
I try to escape the fate they decreed
by running away from castle of power
and seek clear visions in the apple grove
so I understand the nature of things.
I erase all the names of my ancestors,
blasting their words from the tablets of stone
with howling wind of my voice, but their eyes
stare at me from the wall of nameless souls.
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