Emperor Of Death
© Surazeus
2018 05 16
When he leans back in the leather armchair
to contemplate the process of existence
the eerie light of ten millions suns flash
through infinite night to coagulate
in ripe apple that hangs from Tree of Life.
Nobody knows where Odysseus goes
when he sneaks out the city gate at night.
The hero of every tale ever told
from the campfires on plains of Kazakhstan
to the shining mirrored court of Versailles
pushed forward against obstacles of faith
to forge the crown of gold with flames of truth.
Nobody laughs when Achilles grown old
staggers drunk down Manhattan streets at dawn.
She follows herd of horses on lush slope
and waits till the white foal wanders alone
then holds out ripe apple while gliding slow
and pets her neck when she nibbles the fruit,
then sit together by the flowing stream.
Nobody cries when Ophelia dies
except Orpheus clutching broken lyre.
When thirty boys chase him through the wild woods
he snatches oak branch and stands on the mound,
crouching low as he watches with wolf eyes
each time one runs to throw rocks at his head
but he bats each stone far across the world.
Nobody calls when the last man on Earth
teaches Aeneas how to sail his small boat.
The crowd of ape-people run down the beach
and clamber in large cave to hide from rain,
then dance around the giant brachiosaur
who sings eerie enchanting song of sorrow
so they sing along in chorus of tunes.
Nobody writes love tale of Tihamat
who roasts beef on our one-eyed pyramid.
Dressed in red silk gown, Aphrodite glides
up thirteen pyramid steps to gold throne
where the ghost of our weird messiah sits
to judge the souls of the dead who play chess
before the clock strikes at turning of time.
Nobody sings when fool with broken wings
proclaims himself the emperor of death.
© Surazeus
2018 05 16
When he leans back in the leather armchair
to contemplate the process of existence
the eerie light of ten millions suns flash
through infinite night to coagulate
in ripe apple that hangs from Tree of Life.
Nobody knows where Odysseus goes
when he sneaks out the city gate at night.
The hero of every tale ever told
from the campfires on plains of Kazakhstan
to the shining mirrored court of Versailles
pushed forward against obstacles of faith
to forge the crown of gold with flames of truth.
Nobody laughs when Achilles grown old
staggers drunk down Manhattan streets at dawn.
She follows herd of horses on lush slope
and waits till the white foal wanders alone
then holds out ripe apple while gliding slow
and pets her neck when she nibbles the fruit,
then sit together by the flowing stream.
Nobody cries when Ophelia dies
except Orpheus clutching broken lyre.
When thirty boys chase him through the wild woods
he snatches oak branch and stands on the mound,
crouching low as he watches with wolf eyes
each time one runs to throw rocks at his head
but he bats each stone far across the world.
Nobody calls when the last man on Earth
teaches Aeneas how to sail his small boat.
The crowd of ape-people run down the beach
and clamber in large cave to hide from rain,
then dance around the giant brachiosaur
who sings eerie enchanting song of sorrow
so they sing along in chorus of tunes.
Nobody writes love tale of Tihamat
who roasts beef on our one-eyed pyramid.
Dressed in red silk gown, Aphrodite glides
up thirteen pyramid steps to gold throne
where the ghost of our weird messiah sits
to judge the souls of the dead who play chess
before the clock strikes at turning of time.
Nobody sings when fool with broken wings
proclaims himself the emperor of death.
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