I Prefer Wise Apollo
© Surazeus
2018 01 05
I prefer wise Apollo as my god,
my personality guide to living well
in singing visions of truth I perceive.
I do not ever plan to write a memoir,
detailing my quest for the Holy Grail
and how I found its bloodline in my genes,
then sang grand epic tale of cultural heroes
who search for truth in the nature of things.
My epic is about philosophers
who build foundation of civilization
upon the physics of cause and effect,
and my lyrics are about conscious mind
perceiving itself in the universe,
this strange universal experience
of being human on our large spinning globe.
Apollo gleams through laughter of my eyes
when I behold the comedy of life
as man plays the ridiculous sublime,
beauty behind the face of the gargoyle.
On the outskirts of the small southern town,
between the misty Appalachian hills
and the moon-shimmering Gulf of Mexico,
I sit alone in my small red-brick home
while my wife and daughters sleep at midnight,
and listen to the ancient song of stars
that vibrate in the neurons of my brain.
I sing to the dead and the not-yet-born
who crowd around me in the glowing night
of mute eternity, vibrating softly
with steady winds that rustle leaves of trees.
I look for the bleak-feathered rook of death
who waits in the dead apple tree for me,
rearranging her feathers in the rain
to reflect sunlight through my dreaming eye
so I may feel the aching flare of truth
seize my senses and reveal my real name.
I follow Ariel through the misty woods
who leads me to the grove of apple trees
where, in the marble tholos, on high slope
of holy mountain where oracles sing,
I see Sylvia placid in long white gown
holding silver mirror to show my face,
yet in its glowing glass I see the globe
of our evolving world through jeweled eye.
She clutches the wild rhythm of my heart
and in her moon-black eyes I see the light
that vibrates from the sphere of hydrogen
which surges waves of loving energy
in throbbing sponge of my expressive brain.
Like wise Apollo on lush Delian isle
I strum the lyre wily Hermes designed
and sing the quest for truth in wilderness
of our spinning world to explore waste land
where I construct the tower of sight from stone.
Though I sing alone in the wilderness
and no one hears my song on restless wind
I sing with the spirit of wise Apollo
beaming from the aching love of my heart.
© Surazeus
2018 01 05
I prefer wise Apollo as my god,
my personality guide to living well
in singing visions of truth I perceive.
I do not ever plan to write a memoir,
detailing my quest for the Holy Grail
and how I found its bloodline in my genes,
then sang grand epic tale of cultural heroes
who search for truth in the nature of things.
My epic is about philosophers
who build foundation of civilization
upon the physics of cause and effect,
and my lyrics are about conscious mind
perceiving itself in the universe,
this strange universal experience
of being human on our large spinning globe.
Apollo gleams through laughter of my eyes
when I behold the comedy of life
as man plays the ridiculous sublime,
beauty behind the face of the gargoyle.
On the outskirts of the small southern town,
between the misty Appalachian hills
and the moon-shimmering Gulf of Mexico,
I sit alone in my small red-brick home
while my wife and daughters sleep at midnight,
and listen to the ancient song of stars
that vibrate in the neurons of my brain.
I sing to the dead and the not-yet-born
who crowd around me in the glowing night
of mute eternity, vibrating softly
with steady winds that rustle leaves of trees.
I look for the bleak-feathered rook of death
who waits in the dead apple tree for me,
rearranging her feathers in the rain
to reflect sunlight through my dreaming eye
so I may feel the aching flare of truth
seize my senses and reveal my real name.
I follow Ariel through the misty woods
who leads me to the grove of apple trees
where, in the marble tholos, on high slope
of holy mountain where oracles sing,
I see Sylvia placid in long white gown
holding silver mirror to show my face,
yet in its glowing glass I see the globe
of our evolving world through jeweled eye.
She clutches the wild rhythm of my heart
and in her moon-black eyes I see the light
that vibrates from the sphere of hydrogen
which surges waves of loving energy
in throbbing sponge of my expressive brain.
Like wise Apollo on lush Delian isle
I strum the lyre wily Hermes designed
and sing the quest for truth in wilderness
of our spinning world to explore waste land
where I construct the tower of sight from stone.
Though I sing alone in the wilderness
and no one hears my song on restless wind
I sing with the spirit of wise Apollo
beaming from the aching love of my heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment