Find My Way Back Home
© Surazeus
2018 04 24
Because pink cherry blossoms of my sorrow
decorate your hair with laughter of joy,
we can expect the sunlight to refresh
the vibrant energy of expectations.
I talk so far beyond the truths I know
I wander lost in labyrinth of myths
where every god represents some dead person
whose dreams are coded in my sparkling genes.
Whenever I stroll busy city streets
I see familiar spirits in strange faces,
but we played that drama ages ago
and now we play new parts in this fresh season.
The only part I want to play with you
is Adam and Eve in Garden of Eden
who eat ripe apples together with kisses,
and this time no one forces us to leave.
Excessive urge of lust to copulate
electrifies our bodies in our youth
so we dance awkwardly flirtatious games
that leave wounds stinging in frustrated shame.
I prefer we avoid the tragic romance,
like Romeo and Juliet in Boston,
but when he tried to date cute Cinderella
Hamlet punched him outside the Irish pub.
I pull Ophelia from the flowered stream
who asks if I might be bold Lancelot,
but when she sees that I am Mercury
she returns home to castle of Shalott.
While looking for Venus on the sea shore
I hear Frank shouting at the roaring waves
about the catastrophe of his personality
gray as towers and streets of this modern world.
So I look at brown trees frosted with snow
and remember sunlight on the stone wall
that surrounded private Garden of Eden
where only the Elite are allowed to play.
The facial features on the ancient statues
of Egyptian pharaohs, Greek Kore maids,
and Olmec kings look like those on your face,
for you are the daughter of wise Ses-Hat.
Our home is the stage for our private play
where we express romantic energies
that urged dead ancestors to procreate
so they live again through the roles we choose.
All our prophets, the poets and the singers
who chant the secret visions of our hearts,
sing in the chorus of our tragic romance
since Briseis was snatched from arms of Achilles.
If you wait for me like Penelope
I will not be trapped on the hidden island
of languid desire, drinking wine of lust,
for I will always find my way back home.
© Surazeus
2018 04 24
Because pink cherry blossoms of my sorrow
decorate your hair with laughter of joy,
we can expect the sunlight to refresh
the vibrant energy of expectations.
I talk so far beyond the truths I know
I wander lost in labyrinth of myths
where every god represents some dead person
whose dreams are coded in my sparkling genes.
Whenever I stroll busy city streets
I see familiar spirits in strange faces,
but we played that drama ages ago
and now we play new parts in this fresh season.
The only part I want to play with you
is Adam and Eve in Garden of Eden
who eat ripe apples together with kisses,
and this time no one forces us to leave.
Excessive urge of lust to copulate
electrifies our bodies in our youth
so we dance awkwardly flirtatious games
that leave wounds stinging in frustrated shame.
I prefer we avoid the tragic romance,
like Romeo and Juliet in Boston,
but when he tried to date cute Cinderella
Hamlet punched him outside the Irish pub.
I pull Ophelia from the flowered stream
who asks if I might be bold Lancelot,
but when she sees that I am Mercury
she returns home to castle of Shalott.
While looking for Venus on the sea shore
I hear Frank shouting at the roaring waves
about the catastrophe of his personality
gray as towers and streets of this modern world.
So I look at brown trees frosted with snow
and remember sunlight on the stone wall
that surrounded private Garden of Eden
where only the Elite are allowed to play.
The facial features on the ancient statues
of Egyptian pharaohs, Greek Kore maids,
and Olmec kings look like those on your face,
for you are the daughter of wise Ses-Hat.
Our home is the stage for our private play
where we express romantic energies
that urged dead ancestors to procreate
so they live again through the roles we choose.
All our prophets, the poets and the singers
who chant the secret visions of our hearts,
sing in the chorus of our tragic romance
since Briseis was snatched from arms of Achilles.
If you wait for me like Penelope
I will not be trapped on the hidden island
of languid desire, drinking wine of lust,
for I will always find my way back home.
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