Mute Prophet Of God
© Surazeus
2018 02 26
The old man who sits under the oak tree
on the library lawn each afternoon
mumbles while scratching letters in the dirt.
"The best proof that I am Prophet of God
is that nobody listens to my poems."
He looks up when the raven caws his name.
The cars streaming by on the busy road
vanish in streaks of light that flash his mind.
"Cars are the time machines that we drive fast
since we can drive sixty miles in one hour
that would take us twenty-four hours to walk."
The old woman smiles and hands him a star.
Eating the apple she put in his hand,
the old man watches children climb oak trees.
"The entire spinning globe of our huge world
consists of small atoms that pulse with light
and interact through chemical congress
that operates the strict process of time.
We cannot travel back in flow of time
because we would have to force every atom
that composes this giant spinning sphere
to reverse their course of chemical change."
The clock tower on the college campus tolls.
The old man drifts on the glowing sun beams,
sailing the river boat he carved from oak.
"Every civilization of wise mankind
flourished on the shore at the mouth of rivers
because local lands are accessed by streams
and distant lands are reached on ocean tides.
Every great civilization expands
from the egg of their city on the shore
where girls and boys make love among fruit trees."
The old man stares at the broken oak stick.
The old man watches history play on grass,
how one man always plays the role of God
to guide the progress of society.
"When I was sixteen years old in high school
I thought God called me to be his true prophet,
but then I realized clear that all the atoms
of the universe pulse with energy
to form this world nourishing souls that think.
Our brains alone have divine consciousness,
so I am the prophet of the Ungod
who dreams the universe inside my brain."
The little girl gives him a glass of water.
The old man walks into the quiet woods
and lies beside tangled blackberry vines
while everyone else watches television.
"We crawled from the ocean in river streams
and evolved frogs to mice in sparkling pools,
then became monkeys when we climbed in trees.
We learned to grasp sticks and stones with our hands
after swinging through canopies of trees.
The monkeys without tails lived in shore caves,
learning to walk upright in ocean waves.
We learned to talk, signing objects with sounds,
after we ate the psychedelic mushrooms.
Every moment in the beauty of life
and meme of knowledge our ancestors learned
flashes stored in the neurons of our brains.
I sing like Orpheus in flashing rains."
The old man stares mute at the photograph
of his wife and children killed by the gunman
who stormed their school with an assault rifle.
The old man freezes to death in the night,
and Achillea Yarrow blooms from his brain.
© Surazeus
2018 02 26
The old man who sits under the oak tree
on the library lawn each afternoon
mumbles while scratching letters in the dirt.
"The best proof that I am Prophet of God
is that nobody listens to my poems."
He looks up when the raven caws his name.
The cars streaming by on the busy road
vanish in streaks of light that flash his mind.
"Cars are the time machines that we drive fast
since we can drive sixty miles in one hour
that would take us twenty-four hours to walk."
The old woman smiles and hands him a star.
Eating the apple she put in his hand,
the old man watches children climb oak trees.
"The entire spinning globe of our huge world
consists of small atoms that pulse with light
and interact through chemical congress
that operates the strict process of time.
We cannot travel back in flow of time
because we would have to force every atom
that composes this giant spinning sphere
to reverse their course of chemical change."
The clock tower on the college campus tolls.
The old man drifts on the glowing sun beams,
sailing the river boat he carved from oak.
"Every civilization of wise mankind
flourished on the shore at the mouth of rivers
because local lands are accessed by streams
and distant lands are reached on ocean tides.
Every great civilization expands
from the egg of their city on the shore
where girls and boys make love among fruit trees."
The old man stares at the broken oak stick.
The old man watches history play on grass,
how one man always plays the role of God
to guide the progress of society.
"When I was sixteen years old in high school
I thought God called me to be his true prophet,
but then I realized clear that all the atoms
of the universe pulse with energy
to form this world nourishing souls that think.
Our brains alone have divine consciousness,
so I am the prophet of the Ungod
who dreams the universe inside my brain."
The little girl gives him a glass of water.
The old man walks into the quiet woods
and lies beside tangled blackberry vines
while everyone else watches television.
"We crawled from the ocean in river streams
and evolved frogs to mice in sparkling pools,
then became monkeys when we climbed in trees.
We learned to grasp sticks and stones with our hands
after swinging through canopies of trees.
The monkeys without tails lived in shore caves,
learning to walk upright in ocean waves.
We learned to talk, signing objects with sounds,
after we ate the psychedelic mushrooms.
Every moment in the beauty of life
and meme of knowledge our ancestors learned
flashes stored in the neurons of our brains.
I sing like Orpheus in flashing rains."
The old man stares mute at the photograph
of his wife and children killed by the gunman
who stormed their school with an assault rifle.
The old man freezes to death in the night,
and Achillea Yarrow blooms from his brain.
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