My Most Beautiful Song
© Surazeus
2018 04 09
The aching loneliness of hope I feel
when I walk the university campus
in the indifferent sunlight of the sky
leads me forever down the silent sidewalk
looking for the class where I mold my face.
I stand in the empty classroom all day
and teach the ghosts of everyone who died
how to sing through spirals of molecules
so we hear sunlight beaming on gold grass
calculate the true way to somewhere else.
If we become the masks we wear each day
who becomes the self we must leave behind
as sunlight in the mirror of our mind
reflects the shadow of thoughts we deny
although we always come back to this stage.
I can only read your mind if our souls
are tuned to read the same ontology
where we conceal our true identities
in names we choose in silence of twilight
though we never share them with those we love.
Inward deeper ever more we continue
through maze of memories that we forget
to touch the now of hot substantial air
inspiring us to climb the highest mountain
where we fashion masks from sparkling rain clouds.
Though I mapped the mystery of the whole world
I wander lost in the town where I live,
a stranger in a strange land that I found
behind the locked door in library hall
where I still sit reading the stories you wrote.
We see people in fragments of their lives,
appearing and disappearing through doors
of featureless time on roads with no names,
yet we make puppets of them in our tales
so others see lost beauty of their souls.
I peer closely at petals of the rose
that grow in spirals Fibonacci dreamed,
and breathe deep the sweet scent of rushing streams
to calm my beating heart while I race Death
to sing my most beautiful song before.
© Surazeus
2018 04 09
The aching loneliness of hope I feel
when I walk the university campus
in the indifferent sunlight of the sky
leads me forever down the silent sidewalk
looking for the class where I mold my face.
I stand in the empty classroom all day
and teach the ghosts of everyone who died
how to sing through spirals of molecules
so we hear sunlight beaming on gold grass
calculate the true way to somewhere else.
If we become the masks we wear each day
who becomes the self we must leave behind
as sunlight in the mirror of our mind
reflects the shadow of thoughts we deny
although we always come back to this stage.
I can only read your mind if our souls
are tuned to read the same ontology
where we conceal our true identities
in names we choose in silence of twilight
though we never share them with those we love.
Inward deeper ever more we continue
through maze of memories that we forget
to touch the now of hot substantial air
inspiring us to climb the highest mountain
where we fashion masks from sparkling rain clouds.
Though I mapped the mystery of the whole world
I wander lost in the town where I live,
a stranger in a strange land that I found
behind the locked door in library hall
where I still sit reading the stories you wrote.
We see people in fragments of their lives,
appearing and disappearing through doors
of featureless time on roads with no names,
yet we make puppets of them in our tales
so others see lost beauty of their souls.
I peer closely at petals of the rose
that grow in spirals Fibonacci dreamed,
and breathe deep the sweet scent of rushing streams
to calm my beating heart while I race Death
to sing my most beautiful song before.
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