Real World Of Things

Real World Of Things
© Surazeus
2018 01 17

The standard practice of any dying god
is wind the clock three times against the void
to tick-tock radiance from her open eyes
that see the spirit we just try to hide.

I see reflected in your smiling face
the face I left behind twelve years ago
when I escaped the haven where dead gods
sit chatting long in peaceful twilight glow.

I hide the code of immortality
in musical notations on the wall
so anyone who buys their liberty
will lose their soul to the ghost in the hall.

The more I grow into my unknown self
the more I redesign my secret name
so every memory I want to preserve
will bloom from seeds I planted in my brain.

If I replace every organic part
comprising this body my mother forged,
except my brain, with mechanical parts
I will become robotic Superman.

I will still be me inside silver shell,
mapping the journey I meant to engage,
while I record the tale of human life
that will vanish when our sweet sun explodes.

Of all the people living in this world,
whom I adore in photographs of ink,
I want to be nobody else but me
because I transformed into my God Self.

But who am I, I ponder while I stroll
the crowded boulevard on Christmas Eve
where thousands of people who have no names
buy each other empty boxes as gifts.

I mail my dreaming brain to Tennessee
where she grows hawk wings from dinosaur bones,
yet no one taught me how I can live free
so I carve signs of gods on shining stones.

I cast the Rune stones on windy plain
where sparkling rain streams down from the weird sun,
and in their arcane spells I read the truth
that nothing lives beyond the empty sky.

Inside the swirling atmosphere of souls
we swim in search for fertile mate to spawn,
and when our children leave our haven home
we play in our quaint garden by the pool.

Since everyone thinks I am the weird fool
who carves images of people on trees,
I walk into the hall where angels sing
and drink the mushroom wine from Holy Grail.

Though I was human when I was still young
once I was crowned as king, and given wand
of wisdom, I transformed from beam of light
into immortal God who rules the world.

I stand before the angels in white robes,
the Elohim who know the secret codes,
and explain, I and my Father are One
because he sired my soul from seed of God.

I left the haven walls of our small garden
and wandered waste land of immortal light
where goddess of love appeared to my eyes
and gave me book of prophecies to read.

Now I return to garden I escaped
as messenger of god that is not real
to proclaim the truth that no one can see
so we can dream the real world as it is.

The real world as it is, composed of atoms,
flashes in the rays of sunlight I dream,
so I imagine model of the world
that shimmers as hologram in my brain.

We all live in the same real world of things,
but our brains design from parts we perceive
small virtual model to reflect the whole
that helps us navigate weird maze of dreams.