Face I Left Behind
© Surazeus
2018 04 01
The face I left behind in the old book
of forgotten legends still has no name
though I went down to the national bank
to buy the reason we need to exist
outside the crumbling walls of paradise
where I left the monster mask I once carved.
I carved the monster mask when I was twelve
to express frustration wrenching my heart
like the sharp blade that opens oyster shells
where restless wind slithers along the beach
to erase the spell I wrote in white sand
so all I foretold would never come true.
Everything I foretold in shaded grove
by the Mirror of Diana at dawn
the old men carved on panels of oak wood
to read before the circle of twelve tribes
when they gather every year to rejoice
in resurrection of life in our children.
The life of our children I dream in shadows
when sunlight flickers on indifferent water
but nothing I dream will happen then happens,
for they swerve off the true path I described
and weave their souls in forest of tall trees
by singing silver voices with long wings.
Though I sang with silver voice through the maze
nobody seems to follow trail I map
so now I wander lost in wilderness
of voiceless whispers only I can hear
to ring of stones on silent mountain top
where gods once ruled with wands of ancient wisdom.
The wand of ancient wisdom, that I found
half buried in the dirt, flashes pure light
of eager sun rays through the diamond eye
of my dreaming brain where every event
all my ancestors experienced is stored
in tales of action on cause and effect.
When I recite tales of action for you,
your eyes dream again how mighty gods lived,
but they are dust, so when I point up high
you think I mean the gods lived in the sky
in palace of lightning on black storm clouds,
but nature spins indifferent to our souls.
The whole indifferent world nurtures our bodies
but will destroy our bodies just as quick,
so we carve statues of our social heroes
whose actions showed us how to live and thrive,
but we will all dissolve to dust in wind
that sparkle on the endless river flow.
© Surazeus
2018 04 01
The face I left behind in the old book
of forgotten legends still has no name
though I went down to the national bank
to buy the reason we need to exist
outside the crumbling walls of paradise
where I left the monster mask I once carved.
I carved the monster mask when I was twelve
to express frustration wrenching my heart
like the sharp blade that opens oyster shells
where restless wind slithers along the beach
to erase the spell I wrote in white sand
so all I foretold would never come true.
Everything I foretold in shaded grove
by the Mirror of Diana at dawn
the old men carved on panels of oak wood
to read before the circle of twelve tribes
when they gather every year to rejoice
in resurrection of life in our children.
The life of our children I dream in shadows
when sunlight flickers on indifferent water
but nothing I dream will happen then happens,
for they swerve off the true path I described
and weave their souls in forest of tall trees
by singing silver voices with long wings.
Though I sang with silver voice through the maze
nobody seems to follow trail I map
so now I wander lost in wilderness
of voiceless whispers only I can hear
to ring of stones on silent mountain top
where gods once ruled with wands of ancient wisdom.
The wand of ancient wisdom, that I found
half buried in the dirt, flashes pure light
of eager sun rays through the diamond eye
of my dreaming brain where every event
all my ancestors experienced is stored
in tales of action on cause and effect.
When I recite tales of action for you,
your eyes dream again how mighty gods lived,
but they are dust, so when I point up high
you think I mean the gods lived in the sky
in palace of lightning on black storm clouds,
but nature spins indifferent to our souls.
The whole indifferent world nurtures our bodies
but will destroy our bodies just as quick,
so we carve statues of our social heroes
whose actions showed us how to live and thrive,
but we will all dissolve to dust in wind
that sparkle on the endless river flow.
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