Algebra Of True Love
© Surazeus
2018 06 14
The girl who fell down the elevator shaft
visits me in my dorm room after dark
to explain the algebra of true love
so I can calculate the missing factor.
Sitting in the bird house, I learn the craft
of brewing potion from willow tree bark
with flashes of stars I squint at above
the cosmic dome of old nuclear reactor.
Leaping in the small boat, I trim the sail
and glide over waves beneath the red moon
to find the island where my love has gone
because I tried to kiss her perfect eye.
Slouched on hot sand, I admit that I fail
every attempt to climb over the dune,
so I dig for clams in the blinding dawn
and long for the laughter of her pure sky.
Though people believe in our holy state,
the greatest country ever to exist
in the history of the world, I prefer
to tend apple trees in my secret grove.
Why am I always searching for the mate
who complements my soul, and thus persist
translating weird riddles when I confer
with mute women who bake bread at the stove?
I am no banker, senator, nor king
moving among the most powerful elite
who discuss psychology of control
to manipulate people for my gain.
When I find the raven with broken wing
I carry it to cave from freezing sleet
where I tend it with care till it heals whole,
then watch it fly away after bright rain.
Everywhere I go I see the ghost girl,
the absence of her being my heart projects
as glow of light in space before my eyes
who guides me nowhere on the road of faith.
Each time I see her my brain starts to whirl
in galaxy of stars as conscious subjects
to become the Angel of Light who flies
laughing through atoms of my spirit wraith.
Once I explore the world, I stand in rain
to comprehend the truth of the White Whole
because her kiss wakens my second sight,
so we make love under the tree of wisdom.
Because we suffer agony of pain
we must invent our own personal role
since the blind girl knows the secret of flight,
how destiny is disordered and random.
I wander weeping on the streets of why,
explaining to angels I have no home,
so they paint families on each house window
while Death guards paradise at the locked gate.
After my wife dies I become the spy
who steals church statues from each land I roam,
and replaces God with the hungry shadow
who fails to predict new world order fate.
The Absence of her soul becomes the Ghost
who haunts my way around the spinning world
so that is why I stand by broken doors
and sing epic tale of philosophers.
I hitchhike America coast to coast
to find where the dragon of truth lies curled
after my grandmother left misty moors
so I learn art from wise cartographers.
The old man grips my collar in the sun
and shouts with the voice of lightning and wind
I am the greatest poet on this Earth
but I escape the mocking of his eye.
My beating heart still urges me to run
though Phoebus places laurel on my head
because I hope to rise from second birth
before my soul vanishes in vast sky.
Lost on the ocean on fragile glass raft,
I search everywhere for the sacred park
where gods code the algebra of true love
so I can calculate the unknown factor.
When I find the Goddess of Love she laughs
that I sing haunting melody so stark
she takes me alone to her private cove
where she teaches me how to play the actor.
© Surazeus
2018 06 14
The girl who fell down the elevator shaft
visits me in my dorm room after dark
to explain the algebra of true love
so I can calculate the missing factor.
Sitting in the bird house, I learn the craft
of brewing potion from willow tree bark
with flashes of stars I squint at above
the cosmic dome of old nuclear reactor.
Leaping in the small boat, I trim the sail
and glide over waves beneath the red moon
to find the island where my love has gone
because I tried to kiss her perfect eye.
Slouched on hot sand, I admit that I fail
every attempt to climb over the dune,
so I dig for clams in the blinding dawn
and long for the laughter of her pure sky.
Though people believe in our holy state,
the greatest country ever to exist
in the history of the world, I prefer
to tend apple trees in my secret grove.
Why am I always searching for the mate
who complements my soul, and thus persist
translating weird riddles when I confer
with mute women who bake bread at the stove?
I am no banker, senator, nor king
moving among the most powerful elite
who discuss psychology of control
to manipulate people for my gain.
When I find the raven with broken wing
I carry it to cave from freezing sleet
where I tend it with care till it heals whole,
then watch it fly away after bright rain.
Everywhere I go I see the ghost girl,
the absence of her being my heart projects
as glow of light in space before my eyes
who guides me nowhere on the road of faith.
Each time I see her my brain starts to whirl
in galaxy of stars as conscious subjects
to become the Angel of Light who flies
laughing through atoms of my spirit wraith.
Once I explore the world, I stand in rain
to comprehend the truth of the White Whole
because her kiss wakens my second sight,
so we make love under the tree of wisdom.
Because we suffer agony of pain
we must invent our own personal role
since the blind girl knows the secret of flight,
how destiny is disordered and random.
I wander weeping on the streets of why,
explaining to angels I have no home,
so they paint families on each house window
while Death guards paradise at the locked gate.
After my wife dies I become the spy
who steals church statues from each land I roam,
and replaces God with the hungry shadow
who fails to predict new world order fate.
The Absence of her soul becomes the Ghost
who haunts my way around the spinning world
so that is why I stand by broken doors
and sing epic tale of philosophers.
I hitchhike America coast to coast
to find where the dragon of truth lies curled
after my grandmother left misty moors
so I learn art from wise cartographers.
The old man grips my collar in the sun
and shouts with the voice of lightning and wind
I am the greatest poet on this Earth
but I escape the mocking of his eye.
My beating heart still urges me to run
though Phoebus places laurel on my head
because I hope to rise from second birth
before my soul vanishes in vast sky.
Lost on the ocean on fragile glass raft,
I search everywhere for the sacred park
where gods code the algebra of true love
so I can calculate the unknown factor.
When I find the Goddess of Love she laughs
that I sing haunting melody so stark
she takes me alone to her private cove
where she teaches me how to play the actor.
No comments:
Post a Comment