Mask Of Alastor

Mask Of Alastor
© Surazeus
2018 03 09

The trees cry for the blood of the dead king,
the flowers and birds swift for burning spring,
the gnarled roots weaving sanctuary, gears
motivating spheres of transcendent years
which calculate curves of friendship arranged
where chess pieces in royal courts deranged
refuse to do their duty for the rain
drenching sponge-like soil of my dreaming brain.

I discard the mask of the face I dream
and leave it singing by the jagged stream,
then wear the face of each person I meet
to feel agony that makes their heart beat,
so when I walk the fair Sicilian shores
I leave mute shadows behind in your doors,
though every day I wear your secret name
and prophesy only fools win the game.

Frozen mute in the quiet library hall
I stare at my Unface on the white wall,
then ask myself questions that are not true,
such as, why am I me, and why not you,
also why am I here, and why not there,
then laugh at you while I eat your last pear,
because I become whoever I want,
the noble king or the idiot savant.

I stop beneath dead trees when the church bell
clamors ghosts awake from water well
that no one on campus can see but me,
so I stand on stage with the Cosmic Key
and try to explain secret of rebirth
through God the Sperm that regenerates Earth,
but they crucify me while they sing hymns
to weave my story through the curtain scrims.

I watch pure whitecaps wrinkle up the lake
through pulsing of each moment I awake
to dream lost memories my ancestors feel
that weird moment I invented the wheel
till by wagons we colonize the world
while searching where the Sun Dragon lies curled
inside the flashing television screen
that presents how I designed the machine.

All these atoms forged by the singing sun
that compose our bodies pulse to beam one
with infinite bands through spinning volution
five hundred million years of evolution
flashing neurons of our perceptive brains
to model the world in vibrant membranes
so we regulate quick chemical dance
by breathing slow to float in carefree trance.

Each illuminated moment we dream
intense awareness of our mental scheme,
our brains conjure visions to figure out
actions we must employ to reverse doubt
and taste tinged pleasure of sensual amazement
that rewards the dangerous risk of engagement
when all the vibrant history of our time
we encode to conceal in arcane rhyme.

From base particular of facts I know,
gained through experience, to learn and grow,
I analyze network of strange events
which reveal universal precedents,
and from weird idea of changeless truth,
deducted from lies by Way of the Sleuth,
I perceive structure of the grand world view
that shows why I am me, and why not you.

While chasing the Spirit of Solitude
into the waste land of grim fortitude
I find myself on the shore of Star Lake
that reveals mystery of why we are awake,
masked by the egotistical sublime
that leads me to commit the social crime
of Augustine pride in my mental state,
which teaches me how to change my weird fate.

To strip away the mask of my false face,
allowing me to map vast mental space,
I extricate organic robot rules
to build the Super Soul with psychic tools,
traced from negative capability
through strange family responsibility
to play the father disguised as god clown
as the police chief of every small town.

Now when my love becomes the eye of heaven
who orchestrates the harmonic progression,
which flashes clear the universal sun,
from which our puzzle molecules are spun,
we breathe beatific soul of city towers
to understand the math of blooming flowers
so we can weave the abstract through our dreams
while kissing in the apple of sunbeams.

So in this old house where our parents dwelled,
dancing free through lost photographs, propelled
to paint naked souls on walls blown to dust
till we love with purpose instead of must,
we sit together by the flameless hearth
and conceal shameful stories of rebirth
so when our child appears through the locked door
we know she wears the mask of Alastor.