Why Is There Something
© Surazeus
2018 05 02
The wind of the mountain blows through my heart
to howl hungry anguish of the mad warrior
who sulks about the pretty girl he loves
taken away by the arrogant king.
The wind of the ocean blows through my mind
to hum strategy of the clever seeker
who struggles to return to wife he loves
beset by suiters trying to steal his scepter.
I sit at the Round Table with the Mad King,
organizing puzzle pieces by theme
to reassemble fragments of human history
in coherent tale of our search for truth.
I pull threads from the vast yarn ball of life,
this globe batted about by the Sun Cat,
and weave tapestries of galloping verse
to present seekers of truth as great heroes.
When I threw away magic beans of faith
the tangled vine of my ancestral soul
tore from my heart and grew up to the sky
where I climb the cliff to castle of gold.
Homer the blind giant slouches on his throne,
eating laurel leaves from wreath on his head,
so I steal the harp that Apollo made
and wander the land, strumming golden tunes.
Electra finds me swimming in the lake,
so we sit on the hill and watch the moon,
amazed that this small chunk of arid dust
maintains the balance of our spinning world.
Why is there something in this universe,
she asks me while caressing my long hair,
rather than nothing, for we first appear
from the First Flash of the glowing White Whole.
© Surazeus
2018 05 02
The wind of the mountain blows through my heart
to howl hungry anguish of the mad warrior
who sulks about the pretty girl he loves
taken away by the arrogant king.
The wind of the ocean blows through my mind
to hum strategy of the clever seeker
who struggles to return to wife he loves
beset by suiters trying to steal his scepter.
I sit at the Round Table with the Mad King,
organizing puzzle pieces by theme
to reassemble fragments of human history
in coherent tale of our search for truth.
I pull threads from the vast yarn ball of life,
this globe batted about by the Sun Cat,
and weave tapestries of galloping verse
to present seekers of truth as great heroes.
When I threw away magic beans of faith
the tangled vine of my ancestral soul
tore from my heart and grew up to the sky
where I climb the cliff to castle of gold.
Homer the blind giant slouches on his throne,
eating laurel leaves from wreath on his head,
so I steal the harp that Apollo made
and wander the land, strumming golden tunes.
Electra finds me swimming in the lake,
so we sit on the hill and watch the moon,
amazed that this small chunk of arid dust
maintains the balance of our spinning world.
Why is there something in this universe,
she asks me while caressing my long hair,
rather than nothing, for we first appear
from the First Flash of the glowing White Whole.
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