My Infinite Minute
© Surazeus
2018 03 12
Through my infinite minute of sunlight
I stand before temple of the dead god
and imagine the perfection of heaven,
ideal version of this community
that seethes in vibrant contention of hope
bound within stone walls of our paradise,
and ache to organize opposing wills
in strict cooperation of desire
to maximize efficiency of action
so each person will play their vital role
in economic function of our tribe
so we expand beyond our castle towers
to control resources of the landscape
where angels dance all night in human form.
Through my infinite minute of lost hope
I walk the streets of cities without names
on endless quest for the true Holy Grail
so I may drink the nectar of dead gods
and feel the spiral whirl of ancient wisdom
timing how our spirits weave memories
that record the results from game of thrones
each time another man wants to play god
so he outwits the king to be the king
who soars toward clouds on artificial wings,
but falls from heaven when bold haughty pride
urges him to storm the gold gates of heaven,
till I find the human woman alone
who waits to reincarnate my weird soul.
Through my infinite minute of weird dreams
I walk through Bradstreet Gate to Harvard Campus,
named for my first ancestor in America,
Anne Bradstreet, the Witch of Achastapac,
who gives me the secret name of my soul,
so I walk the land of rivers and mountains
to find the Seat of the Poet in the Tower
where Onatah gives me a bowl of popcorn,
and takes me by the hand in red moonlight
to show me where the dead angels are now
who will lead me to the land of Wakanda
so I may learn the Mystery of the World
that vibrates in the neurons of my brain
which generates virtual model of Earth.
Through my infinite minute of far sight
I see the real land of mountains and lakes
veiled by the glamor of the national name
that crackles like a dome of shining glass
above the fruited plains between two seas,
which cracks and shatters at the howling blow
of fearful pride that motivates white men
to boldly claim privilege for making rules
that control the lives of women and children
they swear to protect within walls of laws,
but we travel west on four spinning wheels
to found new paradise in the Waste Land
that we name Wakanda to hide our truth
till we can wave the Flag of Liberty.
Through my infinite minute of wild wings
I dance in circles around glowing flames
inside Stonehenge ring on the Plain of Sarum
to find the flashing atom of the mind
which glows bright with truth of our loyal love
in the harrowing darkness of the night
that swallows all conscious souls in the void,
so we savor the pleasure of this hour
in the glorious enchantment of our song
expressing the passion of empathy
we feel when gazing in the dreaming eyes
of those we love, separate from our huge hearts,
so we can replicate immortal souls
in bodies of children who dream our names.
Through my infinite minute of strange faith
I see the endless flow of history
when every boisterous character who rose
singing jaunty joy from the fields of war
returned home to the hearth of their clan,
dancing with vigor in the ring of eyes
to relate the grand tale of victory
when they wrestled with the demon of death
and found the perpetual flame of delight
to banish the darkness and drink the light,
then we built the statue of their bold face
to symbolize spirit of selfless love
embodied in the God we worship well,
ideal persona we play in game of life.
© Surazeus
2018 03 12
Through my infinite minute of sunlight
I stand before temple of the dead god
and imagine the perfection of heaven,
ideal version of this community
that seethes in vibrant contention of hope
bound within stone walls of our paradise,
and ache to organize opposing wills
in strict cooperation of desire
to maximize efficiency of action
so each person will play their vital role
in economic function of our tribe
so we expand beyond our castle towers
to control resources of the landscape
where angels dance all night in human form.
Through my infinite minute of lost hope
I walk the streets of cities without names
on endless quest for the true Holy Grail
so I may drink the nectar of dead gods
and feel the spiral whirl of ancient wisdom
timing how our spirits weave memories
that record the results from game of thrones
each time another man wants to play god
so he outwits the king to be the king
who soars toward clouds on artificial wings,
but falls from heaven when bold haughty pride
urges him to storm the gold gates of heaven,
till I find the human woman alone
who waits to reincarnate my weird soul.
Through my infinite minute of weird dreams
I walk through Bradstreet Gate to Harvard Campus,
named for my first ancestor in America,
Anne Bradstreet, the Witch of Achastapac,
who gives me the secret name of my soul,
so I walk the land of rivers and mountains
to find the Seat of the Poet in the Tower
where Onatah gives me a bowl of popcorn,
and takes me by the hand in red moonlight
to show me where the dead angels are now
who will lead me to the land of Wakanda
so I may learn the Mystery of the World
that vibrates in the neurons of my brain
which generates virtual model of Earth.
Through my infinite minute of far sight
I see the real land of mountains and lakes
veiled by the glamor of the national name
that crackles like a dome of shining glass
above the fruited plains between two seas,
which cracks and shatters at the howling blow
of fearful pride that motivates white men
to boldly claim privilege for making rules
that control the lives of women and children
they swear to protect within walls of laws,
but we travel west on four spinning wheels
to found new paradise in the Waste Land
that we name Wakanda to hide our truth
till we can wave the Flag of Liberty.
Through my infinite minute of wild wings
I dance in circles around glowing flames
inside Stonehenge ring on the Plain of Sarum
to find the flashing atom of the mind
which glows bright with truth of our loyal love
in the harrowing darkness of the night
that swallows all conscious souls in the void,
so we savor the pleasure of this hour
in the glorious enchantment of our song
expressing the passion of empathy
we feel when gazing in the dreaming eyes
of those we love, separate from our huge hearts,
so we can replicate immortal souls
in bodies of children who dream our names.
Through my infinite minute of strange faith
I see the endless flow of history
when every boisterous character who rose
singing jaunty joy from the fields of war
returned home to the hearth of their clan,
dancing with vigor in the ring of eyes
to relate the grand tale of victory
when they wrestled with the demon of death
and found the perpetual flame of delight
to banish the darkness and drink the light,
then we built the statue of their bold face
to symbolize spirit of selfless love
embodied in the God we worship well,
ideal persona we play in game of life.
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