Singing Statue With Three Eyes
© Surazeus
2018 02 15
I am the broken puppet without eyes
dancing frantically on loose tangled strings
in the hands of our non-existent God
who hides my name in magic crossword puzzles.
Whatever remains solid to my touch,
though it shimmers in the light of my eyes,
after I stop believing in illusions,
I trust is real and not glamor of hope.
After sailing river of broken skulls,
I drift in gray mist on the swirling sea
till I tumble off the edge of the world
and float through infinite nothing of death.
I wake on the beach of indifference,
washed up in the bright cove of empty caves
where wind sings in the hollow of my heart
and waves play at my feet with laughing eyes.
After eating lizards, I climb the cliff
and walk into the waste land of my dreams,
glass cities vaporized by nuclear blasts,
to find the oldest woman in the world.
Brewing juice under the last apple tree,
that blooms amid the ruins of great cities,
she tells me, when humans were still small mice
we hid from the dragons who flew star ships.
Sixty five million years ago, she sings,
before the meteor destroyed their world empire,
they flew star ships to the nearest green world,
and now they return, angels without wings.
When the meteor hit Gulf of Mexico,
killing most dinosaurs around the globe,
long-armed mice climbing mountains of Guilin
spread across the world, swinging among trees,
and evolved to monkeys in Africa.
Monkeys lacking tails came down from the trees,
learning to walk in surging ocean waves
then strode across the plains as talking humans
to build pyramids on Khem river shores.
Amen taught us how to sing hymns of love,
and Tahuti taught us how to draw marks
with sticks in mud to paint ideograms
which tell the stories of heroic gods.
When Nabu designed alphabet of letters
to convey sounds of words instead of pictures
civil war erupted among the scribes
between the ideogramites and the phonites.
Sin lead the ideogramites in ships east,
sailing around the globe to rugged land
where sons of Chin drew ideograms on bones
to sign the balance of mountain and sea.
I stand in Museum hall and gaze
silently at paintings of Mother Mary
who holds baby Jesus at her warm breast,
each one a reincarnation of the bloodline.
I turn and see her face in the cracked mirror,
the Mermaid Mary Magdalene, my mother,
who woke up on the beach in southern France
and sang sad hymns in the Cave of Saint Baume.
How far I wandered in the wilderness
reborn as young women ten thousand years
who stand weeping in the sun-flashing rain
and remember our original name.
When I was cooking bread in castle kitchen
the rusty knight tried to hack off my head,
but I ducked quick and stabbed him in the heart,
then ran to my mother who screamed in fear.
I knew then she sent her lover to kill me
because she wanted her son to be king,
but I have no right to wear the gold ring,
I stare confused at the old man on the throne.
My sister was your mother, she explains,
impregnated by our crazy old king,
but all his legitimate sons are dead,
so now the right is yours to reign instead.
From kitchen boy to king I climb the tower
and gaze back to the cave where I was born
and crowned the Fisher King who rules the sea,
so I drink her blood from the Holy Grail.
Now the restless son of that king grown old,
I leap castle walls and run into mist
to climb the gold windy mountains of Scotia
where the cute blond shepherdess claims my soul.
Though I wander lost in labyrinth of masks,
carved from the faces my ancestors wore,
I follow their eyes back home to myself,
alive again on beach of Oregon.
These are the voyages around the world
of the Starship Aquitaine I navigate,
for we are fragile flames in the vast void,
singing to shine with the beauty of love.
I sailed from Egyptia across the red sea
and landed on the beach of Sumeria
where I sang visions in cave of lost souls
till I was born again from seed of truth.
I sailed from Sumeria across the blue sea
and landed on the beach of Galatia
where I sang visions in the hall of lost souls
till I was born again from seed of hope.
I sailed from Galatia across the green sea
and landed on the beach of Attica
where I sang visions in the temple of lost souls
till I was born again from seed of wisdom.
I sailed from Attica across the purple sea
and landed on the beach of Italia
where I sang visions in the forum of lost souls
till I was born again from seed of faith.
I sailed from Italia across the golden sea
and landed on the beach of Aquitania
where I sang visions in the palace of lost souls
till I was born again from seed of knowledge.
I sailed from Aquitania across the silver sea
and landed on the beach of Avalon
where I sang visions in the castle of lost souls
till I was born again from seed of mystery.
I sailed from Avalon across the gray sea
and landed on the beach of Massachusetts
where I sang visions in the church of lost souls
till I was born again from seed of poetry.
I walked across the land of America,
exploring new vales sea to shining sea
till I stand now on beach of Oregon
where I sing visions in cave of lost souls.
The long voyages of my restless soul
lead me far beyond the safe haven walls
where apple trees bloom by fountain of tears
so I build New Haven before I die.
I am the oracle and the navigator
on world-exploring Starship Aquitaine,
dream shaman costumed as an alligator
searching for the Holy Grail of Prytain.
From Mermaid on the gold beach of Marseilles
I transform into Eleanor of Castile
who walks on the beach of Caernarfon Castle,
singing ancient melodies of sea waves.
From Zaida on the gold beach of Sevilla
I transform into Anne Dudley Bradstreet
who walks on the beach of Massachusetts,
singing ancient melodies of sea waves.
From Eleanor on the gold beach of Aquitaine
I transform into Sophronia Loofbourrow Kelly
who walks on the beach of the Ohio River,
singing ancient melodies of sea waves.
Shall I sail onward from Oregon west
across the vast pacific sea of dreams
and land on the sparkling beach of Guangdong,
then walk back to the mountains of Guilin?
I climb high mountain soaring among clouds
where Kwan Yin sings among the shining stars,
and play melodies on fragile bone flute
that captures the spirit of the wild wind.
I wander east to Appalachian hills
where Muse Kalliope wakes me from dream
to recite epic of philosophers
which I carve on tablets of melting ice.
Ten thousand years from Egypt I progress
through endless maze of courts, churches, and farms
to stand again nameless on ocean beach
hidden behind the mask of my true soul.
I am the singing statue with three eyes,
reciting Chronicle of Human Life
to express how we struggle to survive,
fragile flames of love in the void of death.
© Surazeus
2018 02 15
I am the broken puppet without eyes
dancing frantically on loose tangled strings
in the hands of our non-existent God
who hides my name in magic crossword puzzles.
Whatever remains solid to my touch,
though it shimmers in the light of my eyes,
after I stop believing in illusions,
I trust is real and not glamor of hope.
After sailing river of broken skulls,
I drift in gray mist on the swirling sea
till I tumble off the edge of the world
and float through infinite nothing of death.
I wake on the beach of indifference,
washed up in the bright cove of empty caves
where wind sings in the hollow of my heart
and waves play at my feet with laughing eyes.
After eating lizards, I climb the cliff
and walk into the waste land of my dreams,
glass cities vaporized by nuclear blasts,
to find the oldest woman in the world.
Brewing juice under the last apple tree,
that blooms amid the ruins of great cities,
she tells me, when humans were still small mice
we hid from the dragons who flew star ships.
Sixty five million years ago, she sings,
before the meteor destroyed their world empire,
they flew star ships to the nearest green world,
and now they return, angels without wings.
When the meteor hit Gulf of Mexico,
killing most dinosaurs around the globe,
long-armed mice climbing mountains of Guilin
spread across the world, swinging among trees,
and evolved to monkeys in Africa.
Monkeys lacking tails came down from the trees,
learning to walk in surging ocean waves
then strode across the plains as talking humans
to build pyramids on Khem river shores.
Amen taught us how to sing hymns of love,
and Tahuti taught us how to draw marks
with sticks in mud to paint ideograms
which tell the stories of heroic gods.
When Nabu designed alphabet of letters
to convey sounds of words instead of pictures
civil war erupted among the scribes
between the ideogramites and the phonites.
Sin lead the ideogramites in ships east,
sailing around the globe to rugged land
where sons of Chin drew ideograms on bones
to sign the balance of mountain and sea.
I stand in Museum hall and gaze
silently at paintings of Mother Mary
who holds baby Jesus at her warm breast,
each one a reincarnation of the bloodline.
I turn and see her face in the cracked mirror,
the Mermaid Mary Magdalene, my mother,
who woke up on the beach in southern France
and sang sad hymns in the Cave of Saint Baume.
How far I wandered in the wilderness
reborn as young women ten thousand years
who stand weeping in the sun-flashing rain
and remember our original name.
When I was cooking bread in castle kitchen
the rusty knight tried to hack off my head,
but I ducked quick and stabbed him in the heart,
then ran to my mother who screamed in fear.
I knew then she sent her lover to kill me
because she wanted her son to be king,
but I have no right to wear the gold ring,
I stare confused at the old man on the throne.
My sister was your mother, she explains,
impregnated by our crazy old king,
but all his legitimate sons are dead,
so now the right is yours to reign instead.
From kitchen boy to king I climb the tower
and gaze back to the cave where I was born
and crowned the Fisher King who rules the sea,
so I drink her blood from the Holy Grail.
Now the restless son of that king grown old,
I leap castle walls and run into mist
to climb the gold windy mountains of Scotia
where the cute blond shepherdess claims my soul.
Though I wander lost in labyrinth of masks,
carved from the faces my ancestors wore,
I follow their eyes back home to myself,
alive again on beach of Oregon.
These are the voyages around the world
of the Starship Aquitaine I navigate,
for we are fragile flames in the vast void,
singing to shine with the beauty of love.
I sailed from Egyptia across the red sea
and landed on the beach of Sumeria
where I sang visions in cave of lost souls
till I was born again from seed of truth.
I sailed from Sumeria across the blue sea
and landed on the beach of Galatia
where I sang visions in the hall of lost souls
till I was born again from seed of hope.
I sailed from Galatia across the green sea
and landed on the beach of Attica
where I sang visions in the temple of lost souls
till I was born again from seed of wisdom.
I sailed from Attica across the purple sea
and landed on the beach of Italia
where I sang visions in the forum of lost souls
till I was born again from seed of faith.
I sailed from Italia across the golden sea
and landed on the beach of Aquitania
where I sang visions in the palace of lost souls
till I was born again from seed of knowledge.
I sailed from Aquitania across the silver sea
and landed on the beach of Avalon
where I sang visions in the castle of lost souls
till I was born again from seed of mystery.
I sailed from Avalon across the gray sea
and landed on the beach of Massachusetts
where I sang visions in the church of lost souls
till I was born again from seed of poetry.
I walked across the land of America,
exploring new vales sea to shining sea
till I stand now on beach of Oregon
where I sing visions in cave of lost souls.
The long voyages of my restless soul
lead me far beyond the safe haven walls
where apple trees bloom by fountain of tears
so I build New Haven before I die.
I am the oracle and the navigator
on world-exploring Starship Aquitaine,
dream shaman costumed as an alligator
searching for the Holy Grail of Prytain.
From Mermaid on the gold beach of Marseilles
I transform into Eleanor of Castile
who walks on the beach of Caernarfon Castle,
singing ancient melodies of sea waves.
From Zaida on the gold beach of Sevilla
I transform into Anne Dudley Bradstreet
who walks on the beach of Massachusetts,
singing ancient melodies of sea waves.
From Eleanor on the gold beach of Aquitaine
I transform into Sophronia Loofbourrow Kelly
who walks on the beach of the Ohio River,
singing ancient melodies of sea waves.
Shall I sail onward from Oregon west
across the vast pacific sea of dreams
and land on the sparkling beach of Guangdong,
then walk back to the mountains of Guilin?
I climb high mountain soaring among clouds
where Kwan Yin sings among the shining stars,
and play melodies on fragile bone flute
that captures the spirit of the wild wind.
I wander east to Appalachian hills
where Muse Kalliope wakes me from dream
to recite epic of philosophers
which I carve on tablets of melting ice.
Ten thousand years from Egypt I progress
through endless maze of courts, churches, and farms
to stand again nameless on ocean beach
hidden behind the mask of my true soul.
I am the singing statue with three eyes,
reciting Chronicle of Human Life
to express how we struggle to survive,
fragile flames of love in the void of death.
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