Sing With Me In Rain
© Surazeus
2018 04 19
I just thought if we all gathered together
in the ring of stones that vibrate our thoughts
we might see the same world with different eyes,
but when the angel stabbed me with the feather
of ecstatic insight through bright robots
I discovered the names of the real spies.
I cannot find my way through the faith maze
that traps desperate people in false belief
that God will resurrect us all from death
because this game we play is the next phase
where we evolve beyond tricks of the thief
who wants to charge us for our every breath.
She blushes when we kiss on the massif
where the Mother of Wisdom with three eyes
hides in the cave of visions to protect
the daughter of Jesus wrecked on the reef
when she sailed from Egypt where the hawk flies
to play Baphomet of our secret sect.
Ishtar climbs the pyramid of insight
to bear Horus, the first son of Sky-Walker,
who strums harp of Phoebus on the church stage,
leading us to sing hymns in the Spring rite
while he trains me to play role of the Augur
so I write prophecies on the blank page.
I mount the white mare with thundering wing
to ride with Jesus and his grandson Michael,
son of Gabriel who bears sword of fire,
the four horsemen of the Apocalypse
preaching revelation that Jesus is alive
to overthrow the Emperor of Rome.
I play guitar on street corners to sing
about soul rebirth through the carbon cycle,
preaching evolution beneath the spire
since I will return when solar eclipse
shrouds the world in gloom to search the archive
for secrets hidden in the sophic dome.
I am one member of the Empire Elite,
born from the seed of Eloh on Mount Zion,
and crowned to rule fields of Elysium
hidden on the sacred island of Crete
where I play harp and relax with the lion
who dreams the sun is made of Helium.
Since I am son of Helius, who designed
the wheel that spins on all wagons and cars,
I must sing the metric that beats my heart
how the stars of fate are neatly aligned
to favor my rule over land of Mars
now named Gaul or France on the new world chart.
She weaves our legends as braids in my hair
so I would remember the way to Heaven
that leads from grim Hellas to lush Gerthmania
where Sophia, by Fountain of Despair,
recites the lost epic of Armageddon
since I now rule castles of Transylvania.
Alone in crumbling tower of prophecies,
I dream the First Flash of the Universe,
which bursts from the Great Black Hole of the Brain
and flares forth in vast web of galaxies
where quadrupeds evolve from fertile seas,
longing for you to sing with me in rain.
© Surazeus
2018 04 19
I just thought if we all gathered together
in the ring of stones that vibrate our thoughts
we might see the same world with different eyes,
but when the angel stabbed me with the feather
of ecstatic insight through bright robots
I discovered the names of the real spies.
I cannot find my way through the faith maze
that traps desperate people in false belief
that God will resurrect us all from death
because this game we play is the next phase
where we evolve beyond tricks of the thief
who wants to charge us for our every breath.
She blushes when we kiss on the massif
where the Mother of Wisdom with three eyes
hides in the cave of visions to protect
the daughter of Jesus wrecked on the reef
when she sailed from Egypt where the hawk flies
to play Baphomet of our secret sect.
Ishtar climbs the pyramid of insight
to bear Horus, the first son of Sky-Walker,
who strums harp of Phoebus on the church stage,
leading us to sing hymns in the Spring rite
while he trains me to play role of the Augur
so I write prophecies on the blank page.
I mount the white mare with thundering wing
to ride with Jesus and his grandson Michael,
son of Gabriel who bears sword of fire,
the four horsemen of the Apocalypse
preaching revelation that Jesus is alive
to overthrow the Emperor of Rome.
I play guitar on street corners to sing
about soul rebirth through the carbon cycle,
preaching evolution beneath the spire
since I will return when solar eclipse
shrouds the world in gloom to search the archive
for secrets hidden in the sophic dome.
I am one member of the Empire Elite,
born from the seed of Eloh on Mount Zion,
and crowned to rule fields of Elysium
hidden on the sacred island of Crete
where I play harp and relax with the lion
who dreams the sun is made of Helium.
Since I am son of Helius, who designed
the wheel that spins on all wagons and cars,
I must sing the metric that beats my heart
how the stars of fate are neatly aligned
to favor my rule over land of Mars
now named Gaul or France on the new world chart.
She weaves our legends as braids in my hair
so I would remember the way to Heaven
that leads from grim Hellas to lush Gerthmania
where Sophia, by Fountain of Despair,
recites the lost epic of Armageddon
since I now rule castles of Transylvania.
Alone in crumbling tower of prophecies,
I dream the First Flash of the Universe,
which bursts from the Great Black Hole of the Brain
and flares forth in vast web of galaxies
where quadrupeds evolve from fertile seas,
longing for you to sing with me in rain.
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