Idol Of My Soul

Idol Of My Soul
© Surazeus
2017 07 07

The words I write to tell stories of souls
are shadows cast by the light of my soul,
so when I die the light of my soul blanks
to nothing, leaving only shadows of me
to reveal where my mind once glowed with dreams.

The hopes of strangers in stories I tell
are ravens fluttering wings in apple trees
where slithering serpent tempts me to believe
our conscious souls will live after we die
but dreams vanish when our minds cease to glow.

I dip my hands in pool of shining eyes
and see strange spirit looking back at me
who imitates every thought I express,
and how I gasp in shock to realize
I see myself in mirror of our world.

I see strange shadow following my steps
so I mold mud in idol of myself
but leave it standing for one hundred years,
singing in rain that streams down its blank face,
while flowers and herbs bloom from its wet skin.

On crumbling idol of myself I carve
runic letters to match sounds of my mouth
which paint images of my soul on hill
of blooming trees with animals I love,
since infinity explains about death.

This idol of myself in words I write
will stand ten thousand years by flowing stream,
but I will feel alone unless you build
idol of yourself to stand at my side
so we sing together in choir of souls.