King Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2018 01 02
The king plays golf with heads of enemies
and waves to television cameras
on the lawn of the palace where he reigns
while bombs blast homes in distant desert lands.
The large black television screen glows bright
with visions of war burning distant lands
while I walk in the garden with my love
and watch our children play among the trees.
How many doors of truth can we unlock
with broken keys forged from weird chimeras
that spiral from the brains of scientists
who manipulate atoms with bare hands?
Leaving gloomy church, I stand in the light
to dream names of children killed in far lands,
preserved by holy hymns of atheists,
because food plants are fertilized by bees.
Wise Orpheus, babbling your magic spells,
teach me how to save sweet Ophelia
who collects clumps of medicinal herbs
down by the river where the dead play games.
She had so many errands to perform
that she forgot our daughter in the car
so Cinderella sweltered in the sun,
and she wailed to find our precious child dead.
I always see their ghosts in wind-blown wells,
my ancestors who twinkle from every star,
but once I figure out their secret names
I weave their tales in tapestry of truth.
Now when you visit Museum of Souls
you see their lives played in dramatic tales
which reveal how empires rise from strong hands
of men who construct towers of steel and glass.
I feel the sun blaze through mask of my hope
so I stand naked in the light of truth
while faceless coins weep in the falling rain
that thickens my soul with courage of death.
These memories I found in the attic chest
I carve into pieces for the chess board
so we contest to dominate the world
till I crown myself king of everywhere.
I turn the television off and push
open the front door to stand on my lawn,
then listen to the wind laugh at pride
and mock ambition by rustling tree leaves.
People compete in every game of life
to rise above the crowd through noble strife
and thus achieve expression of the self
that shines with glory against gloom of death.
© Surazeus
2018 01 02
The king plays golf with heads of enemies
and waves to television cameras
on the lawn of the palace where he reigns
while bombs blast homes in distant desert lands.
The large black television screen glows bright
with visions of war burning distant lands
while I walk in the garden with my love
and watch our children play among the trees.
How many doors of truth can we unlock
with broken keys forged from weird chimeras
that spiral from the brains of scientists
who manipulate atoms with bare hands?
Leaving gloomy church, I stand in the light
to dream names of children killed in far lands,
preserved by holy hymns of atheists,
because food plants are fertilized by bees.
Wise Orpheus, babbling your magic spells,
teach me how to save sweet Ophelia
who collects clumps of medicinal herbs
down by the river where the dead play games.
She had so many errands to perform
that she forgot our daughter in the car
so Cinderella sweltered in the sun,
and she wailed to find our precious child dead.
I always see their ghosts in wind-blown wells,
my ancestors who twinkle from every star,
but once I figure out their secret names
I weave their tales in tapestry of truth.
Now when you visit Museum of Souls
you see their lives played in dramatic tales
which reveal how empires rise from strong hands
of men who construct towers of steel and glass.
I feel the sun blaze through mask of my hope
so I stand naked in the light of truth
while faceless coins weep in the falling rain
that thickens my soul with courage of death.
These memories I found in the attic chest
I carve into pieces for the chess board
so we contest to dominate the world
till I crown myself king of everywhere.
I turn the television off and push
open the front door to stand on my lawn,
then listen to the wind laugh at pride
and mock ambition by rustling tree leaves.
People compete in every game of life
to rise above the crowd through noble strife
and thus achieve expression of the self
that shines with glory against gloom of death.
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