Children Of Our Broken Statue
© Surazeus
2018 01 29
Expelled from the shadow of my own mind,
without the wings my father wove from fear,
I wander old city of ruined towers,
destroyed by steel planes shooting bombs of hate.
We are the children of our broken statue,
worshipping the God who was never real,
because the man that modeled his design
died ten thousand years ago in mute rain.
We all tried to hide from the hungry man
who devoured those too slow to escape,
till we conspired to trap him in his cave,
and I stabbed his one eye with spear of truth.
After writing story of our despair,
to calculate how soon we all will die
from soul-searing blast of nuclear knowledge,
I wad the page and throw it in the fire.
Strange shadow of ambition that escaped
my cracked skull looms over tall city towers
in rumbling thunderstorm where molecules
spiral from stars to weave my dreaming brain.
Whether we call the God we choose to follow
Prometheus who plots how things will occur,
or Lucifer who lights our path to freedom,
we invent him from secret aspirations.
He lead us from the waste land of our hopes
to storm the ziggurat where blind All rules
but was repelled by blast of bitter anger
and fell from Heaven to crawl in sad dust.
He tries to convince me that, though all creatures
are formed from dust in the wombs of our mothers,
our forms our based on immortal Idea
as spirit that shimmers beyond star shells.
I sit in the cone of the towering rocket
and hold tight to the controls of my mind
when fuel shoots me soaring high into heaven
which shatters illusion that Plato forged.
The shards of his world view, which mirrored bright
our own face that we thought was face of God,
fall around me in drops of sparkling rain
composed of atoms flowing on sun beams.
Rather than small jewels on god-moved shells,
the stars are huge fountains of sparkling matter,
giant suns flashing in galactic web
that forms enormous universal brain.
Breathing deep cool wind on bright winter day,
I concentrate to radiate beams of my soul
so I may expand beyond this frail body,
but no demon escapes to haunt my steps.
Each moment I step from shadow of buildings
sun rays activate ancient memories
of every ancestor who stood at dawn
eager to explore this weird world of dreams.
They all wake at the moment bright sun rays
gleam spiraling through trees on mountain ridge
so all their dreams together glow as me,
illuminating hollow shell of being.
Every morning at dawn for twenty years
I told my children, if civilization
collapses go live on the ocean beach
and spend your day catching fresh fish to eat.
For many years I wanted to learn craft
of building boats, carving trees into shapes
then fitting beams to form wave-gliding hull,
but we drive cars so that art is now lost.
Since I found the magic ring of great power
that gleams halo of light over my head,
rendering me invisible to your eyes,
I walk around the globe ten thousand times.
Since I found the magic book of all tales
that record the deeds and words of dead men,
causing me to sing on bright stage of fame,
I dream in mountain cave ten thousand years.
Chasing the weird shadow of my own mind,
I run through the labyrinth of history
full of mirrors that reflect my lost faces,
masks that God wears to comprehend the atom.
Sitting alone on peak of Mount Parnassus,
I weave angel wings from brains of dead gods
which flap activated by memories
we hide in poems that no one ever reads.
© Surazeus
2018 01 29
Expelled from the shadow of my own mind,
without the wings my father wove from fear,
I wander old city of ruined towers,
destroyed by steel planes shooting bombs of hate.
We are the children of our broken statue,
worshipping the God who was never real,
because the man that modeled his design
died ten thousand years ago in mute rain.
We all tried to hide from the hungry man
who devoured those too slow to escape,
till we conspired to trap him in his cave,
and I stabbed his one eye with spear of truth.
After writing story of our despair,
to calculate how soon we all will die
from soul-searing blast of nuclear knowledge,
I wad the page and throw it in the fire.
Strange shadow of ambition that escaped
my cracked skull looms over tall city towers
in rumbling thunderstorm where molecules
spiral from stars to weave my dreaming brain.
Whether we call the God we choose to follow
Prometheus who plots how things will occur,
or Lucifer who lights our path to freedom,
we invent him from secret aspirations.
He lead us from the waste land of our hopes
to storm the ziggurat where blind All rules
but was repelled by blast of bitter anger
and fell from Heaven to crawl in sad dust.
He tries to convince me that, though all creatures
are formed from dust in the wombs of our mothers,
our forms our based on immortal Idea
as spirit that shimmers beyond star shells.
I sit in the cone of the towering rocket
and hold tight to the controls of my mind
when fuel shoots me soaring high into heaven
which shatters illusion that Plato forged.
The shards of his world view, which mirrored bright
our own face that we thought was face of God,
fall around me in drops of sparkling rain
composed of atoms flowing on sun beams.
Rather than small jewels on god-moved shells,
the stars are huge fountains of sparkling matter,
giant suns flashing in galactic web
that forms enormous universal brain.
Breathing deep cool wind on bright winter day,
I concentrate to radiate beams of my soul
so I may expand beyond this frail body,
but no demon escapes to haunt my steps.
Each moment I step from shadow of buildings
sun rays activate ancient memories
of every ancestor who stood at dawn
eager to explore this weird world of dreams.
They all wake at the moment bright sun rays
gleam spiraling through trees on mountain ridge
so all their dreams together glow as me,
illuminating hollow shell of being.
Every morning at dawn for twenty years
I told my children, if civilization
collapses go live on the ocean beach
and spend your day catching fresh fish to eat.
For many years I wanted to learn craft
of building boats, carving trees into shapes
then fitting beams to form wave-gliding hull,
but we drive cars so that art is now lost.
Since I found the magic ring of great power
that gleams halo of light over my head,
rendering me invisible to your eyes,
I walk around the globe ten thousand times.
Since I found the magic book of all tales
that record the deeds and words of dead men,
causing me to sing on bright stage of fame,
I dream in mountain cave ten thousand years.
Chasing the weird shadow of my own mind,
I run through the labyrinth of history
full of mirrors that reflect my lost faces,
masks that God wears to comprehend the atom.
Sitting alone on peak of Mount Parnassus,
I weave angel wings from brains of dead gods
which flap activated by memories
we hide in poems that no one ever reads.
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