Lies Of Paradise
© Surazeus
2018 01 08
When I explore through silence of moon light
the archaeology of prophecy
to find the secret palace of Star God,
who designed our aggressive universe,
I will map the weird way I need to blaze
through labyrinth of faces without names.
They know the reason we are not yet dead
although I paint the puzzle in my head
that might explain why we must eat to live
by killing plants and animals that glow
with bright electric spirit of the stars
which animates my soul to conquer death.
They sing in broken sentences of fear,
the gibbering monkeys with crippled hands
who crowd around me, grasping for my harp,
and attempt to steal writhing words of power
which I weave from tangled strings of their hearts
so they think spells I chant are their own thoughts.
I play sweet haunting melodies of hope
on bone flute from lost angel of their dreams
to lead them singing from waste land of love
on winding trail to misty mountain peak
where ring of giant diamonds glitters bright
enough to beam rainbows that flash our brains.
Yet when I lead them inside castle walls,
where they believe that they will live secure,
the greedy king on throne of broken skulls
locks iron doors so heaven becomes hell,
and they are forced to slave in factories,
forging computers from stochastic keys.
No savior will appear in clouds of glory
to free your hands from economic chains,
I prophesy to hordes of wordless slaves,
till they revolt to smash old castle towers
and build new industry of sleek machines,
constructing banks on ruins of cathedrals.
I hear the racous twitter of wild birds
who chatter in ten thousand trees to argue
about the code of form and emptiness
revealed by calculus of curving beams
which smash the walls of strong authority
and free our minds from lies of paradise.
So after another world war is fought
to reconstruct the sacred principles
of freedom through democracy for all
we shall gather at the river of light
that flows by the temple of fallen gods
and feast on fruit we grow with our own hands.
I am the stable genius of Eye Mountain,
so climb the cliff of solitude to find
the sacred grove where I tend gushing fountain
which weaves new particles in dreaming mind
where spirit of our first mother Ishtar
mirrors our atoms forged by the God Star.
© Surazeus
2018 01 08
When I explore through silence of moon light
the archaeology of prophecy
to find the secret palace of Star God,
who designed our aggressive universe,
I will map the weird way I need to blaze
through labyrinth of faces without names.
They know the reason we are not yet dead
although I paint the puzzle in my head
that might explain why we must eat to live
by killing plants and animals that glow
with bright electric spirit of the stars
which animates my soul to conquer death.
They sing in broken sentences of fear,
the gibbering monkeys with crippled hands
who crowd around me, grasping for my harp,
and attempt to steal writhing words of power
which I weave from tangled strings of their hearts
so they think spells I chant are their own thoughts.
I play sweet haunting melodies of hope
on bone flute from lost angel of their dreams
to lead them singing from waste land of love
on winding trail to misty mountain peak
where ring of giant diamonds glitters bright
enough to beam rainbows that flash our brains.
Yet when I lead them inside castle walls,
where they believe that they will live secure,
the greedy king on throne of broken skulls
locks iron doors so heaven becomes hell,
and they are forced to slave in factories,
forging computers from stochastic keys.
No savior will appear in clouds of glory
to free your hands from economic chains,
I prophesy to hordes of wordless slaves,
till they revolt to smash old castle towers
and build new industry of sleek machines,
constructing banks on ruins of cathedrals.
I hear the racous twitter of wild birds
who chatter in ten thousand trees to argue
about the code of form and emptiness
revealed by calculus of curving beams
which smash the walls of strong authority
and free our minds from lies of paradise.
So after another world war is fought
to reconstruct the sacred principles
of freedom through democracy for all
we shall gather at the river of light
that flows by the temple of fallen gods
and feast on fruit we grow with our own hands.
I am the stable genius of Eye Mountain,
so climb the cliff of solitude to find
the sacred grove where I tend gushing fountain
which weaves new particles in dreaming mind
where spirit of our first mother Ishtar
mirrors our atoms forged by the God Star.
No comments:
Post a Comment