Broken Heart Of Our Mute Messiah
© Surazeus
2018 01 26
The way frost cracks the window of my heart
reveals how dawn light blinds me to the truth.
Using symbols encoded on the chart,
I navigate maze of lies like weird sleuth.
The footprints I left behind in deep snow
hide my quest through the labyrinth of desire.
Everything is false I wanted to know,
so I burn my old truth in silent fire.
I stumble hopeful toward blinking red light
where cars going nowhere ignore my cries.
On the church door I carve my desperate plight,
then wander voiceless under empty skies.
I know the secret you forgot to dream
so I reach out to touch your fragile hand.
We can pretend the perfection of seem,
which explains why I wander nameless land.
The nation our fathers once glorified
fractures like the mirror in the dark hall.
The old mad king who wanders horrified
left bloody handprints on the clean church wall.
The crowd cries for their messiah to come
but no one answers them in falling rain.
Who will appear to lead them all back home
except the robot with computer brain.
I hear call from puppet God in my head
to play the wise messiah they must need.
Every messiah always ends up dead
so I will stay in the library and read.
How far beyond the broken wall of fear
must I run to find the fountain of love?
I wipe the windshield till it seems to clear
then drive till I reach the ocean-cliff cove.
I stand on the beach in moonlight and storm,
dreaming the history of empires and kings.
We elect clowns who rule that we conform
and give up our right to wear angel wings.
I came through the waste land of broken dreams,
bringing holy book with tales that deceive.
I walk with my mate along gushing streams,
preaching we resurrect when we conceive.
Though everything we valued is now lost
we resurrect our nation through rebirth.
We must teach our children what truth will cost
so they may build new Heaven on this Earth.
Taught to enchant your minds by the mute sleuth,
I map world history on the secret chart.
The real world we perceive must be the truth,
so poetry can repair the broken heart.
© Surazeus
2018 01 26
The way frost cracks the window of my heart
reveals how dawn light blinds me to the truth.
Using symbols encoded on the chart,
I navigate maze of lies like weird sleuth.
The footprints I left behind in deep snow
hide my quest through the labyrinth of desire.
Everything is false I wanted to know,
so I burn my old truth in silent fire.
I stumble hopeful toward blinking red light
where cars going nowhere ignore my cries.
On the church door I carve my desperate plight,
then wander voiceless under empty skies.
I know the secret you forgot to dream
so I reach out to touch your fragile hand.
We can pretend the perfection of seem,
which explains why I wander nameless land.
The nation our fathers once glorified
fractures like the mirror in the dark hall.
The old mad king who wanders horrified
left bloody handprints on the clean church wall.
The crowd cries for their messiah to come
but no one answers them in falling rain.
Who will appear to lead them all back home
except the robot with computer brain.
I hear call from puppet God in my head
to play the wise messiah they must need.
Every messiah always ends up dead
so I will stay in the library and read.
How far beyond the broken wall of fear
must I run to find the fountain of love?
I wipe the windshield till it seems to clear
then drive till I reach the ocean-cliff cove.
I stand on the beach in moonlight and storm,
dreaming the history of empires and kings.
We elect clowns who rule that we conform
and give up our right to wear angel wings.
I came through the waste land of broken dreams,
bringing holy book with tales that deceive.
I walk with my mate along gushing streams,
preaching we resurrect when we conceive.
Though everything we valued is now lost
we resurrect our nation through rebirth.
We must teach our children what truth will cost
so they may build new Heaven on this Earth.
Taught to enchant your minds by the mute sleuth,
I map world history on the secret chart.
The real world we perceive must be the truth,
so poetry can repair the broken heart.
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