Charm Of Water
© Surazeus
2018 02 07
Though eyes can never see the charm of water
melodious tunes of sorrow ring the rain
so I hallucinate the voice of ghosts
who seem to whisper in the empty air.
While typing letters on computer screen,
at my desk in the shining tower of glass,
I feel some familiar stranger approach
who speaks weird concepts from beyond this realm.
I hear her voice with soft buzz in my head,
and tense emotion surges through my nerves,
so I turn quickly to gaze in her eyes
but no one stands there by the empty wall.
My brain conjures up her ghost from strange hope
which startles me from dreamy reverie,
and I laugh to realize with a wry grin
how people can imagine ghosts are real.
Our brains hallucinate the ghosts we sense,
but they are flashes in our neuron cells
and not real ectoplasmic flares of souls,
which seem to embody thoughts we suppress.
The logic of our fathers long ago
when they sensed ghosts of dead people they loved
was to consider that all things they dream
are real forces of motion through the light.
But now we know the neurons of our brains,
reflecting in the shape of sparkling clouds
our compete universe of galaxies,
conjure apparitions from desperate hope.
How real her spirit seemed in reverie
when I was floating half awake from dream,
walking sunlit road in small town on Rhodes,
that rugged island in the sparkling sea.
Cool spray from water fountain by the road
that sparkles under boundless clear blue sky
leaves drops of water on my flushing cheeks
when I wake at computer in glass tower.
Though sense of destiny aches in my heart,
imbuing me with urge I need to go
participate in dramatic events,
I sit still on our slow-revolving world.
No God directs the show of human life,
other than men who think they control things,
so I have no destiny to fulfill,
other than to sing this meaningless spell.
Yet minds can always dream the charm of water,
harmonious spells we calculate with words
our mothers devised in deafening rain
to beam visions of their hearts in our eyes.
© Surazeus
2018 02 07
Though eyes can never see the charm of water
melodious tunes of sorrow ring the rain
so I hallucinate the voice of ghosts
who seem to whisper in the empty air.
While typing letters on computer screen,
at my desk in the shining tower of glass,
I feel some familiar stranger approach
who speaks weird concepts from beyond this realm.
I hear her voice with soft buzz in my head,
and tense emotion surges through my nerves,
so I turn quickly to gaze in her eyes
but no one stands there by the empty wall.
My brain conjures up her ghost from strange hope
which startles me from dreamy reverie,
and I laugh to realize with a wry grin
how people can imagine ghosts are real.
Our brains hallucinate the ghosts we sense,
but they are flashes in our neuron cells
and not real ectoplasmic flares of souls,
which seem to embody thoughts we suppress.
The logic of our fathers long ago
when they sensed ghosts of dead people they loved
was to consider that all things they dream
are real forces of motion through the light.
But now we know the neurons of our brains,
reflecting in the shape of sparkling clouds
our compete universe of galaxies,
conjure apparitions from desperate hope.
How real her spirit seemed in reverie
when I was floating half awake from dream,
walking sunlit road in small town on Rhodes,
that rugged island in the sparkling sea.
Cool spray from water fountain by the road
that sparkles under boundless clear blue sky
leaves drops of water on my flushing cheeks
when I wake at computer in glass tower.
Though sense of destiny aches in my heart,
imbuing me with urge I need to go
participate in dramatic events,
I sit still on our slow-revolving world.
No God directs the show of human life,
other than men who think they control things,
so I have no destiny to fulfill,
other than to sing this meaningless spell.
Yet minds can always dream the charm of water,
harmonious spells we calculate with words
our mothers devised in deafening rain
to beam visions of their hearts in our eyes.
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