Game No One Plays
© Surazeus
2018 06 04
The delicate beauty of the pink lotus
blooms from foul-smelling pond of icky slime
so we strive to improve our social status
by mocking our loser selves all the time.
The arrogant clown in gray business suit
strides boldly against speeding highway traffic
then sits on meridian to play the flute
and sing cute tunes that are violently graphic.
The famous poet, whom no one remembers,
strides importantly with indifferent sun
that beams nonchalantly on glowing embers
which scar his heart pretending to have fun.
The naked ambition for glorious fame
drives him to write satires mocking the clown
who thinks he is president of our game
though the sailing ship conquers his home town.
Although she left him in the sunset fire
that glows eerily on unmoving world
he dreads the coming day he must retire
since only he knows where dragons lie curled.
He wonders why his doppelganger gains
fame and fortune for the same books he writes
while wandering listless after summer rains
to think about rewriting bill of rights.
When Child Harold to the dark tower comes
he finds employment on the thirteenth floor
plotting spreadsheets to calculate the sums
earned by the social justice warrior.
The king under the mountain might play chess
with me disguised in savior robe as Death
if I will sell his story to the press
after running nowhere to catch our breath.
High on holy mountain of inspiration
the door without your temple stands alone
which shows the way back to the home foundation
where the blind wizard reigns on broken stone.
To find the secret cavern of good luck
and cheat devils to give me secret wealth
I go to paradise to rent the truck
by which I explore the weird maze with stealth.
I wear ten thousand masks you cannot see
to play every dead god on stage of truth
then play chess with Death by the laughing sea
when I announce that I am now the sleuth.
Within my home the magic mind-dome glows
true world view through simple consistency
which guides our actions in our vaudeville shows
disguised as god with fearful symmetry.
In all our world of forms the greatest power
which calculates the game of strict brain rules
reincarnates ancient soul in frail flowers
to dictate only I can wear the jewels.
Since I always win the game no one plays
indifferent sunlight glows on the blank wall
because I run far ahead in the maze
which always returns to the first dream hall.
I would try to explain what it all means
but you still try to fix what never broke
since true wisdom is programmed in our genes
and religious doctrine is still the joke.
Since the horror of death burned through my soul
I stand transformed by alchemical flame
to become one mind with the weird White Whole
and sing the song that records every name.
© Surazeus
2018 06 04
The delicate beauty of the pink lotus
blooms from foul-smelling pond of icky slime
so we strive to improve our social status
by mocking our loser selves all the time.
The arrogant clown in gray business suit
strides boldly against speeding highway traffic
then sits on meridian to play the flute
and sing cute tunes that are violently graphic.
The famous poet, whom no one remembers,
strides importantly with indifferent sun
that beams nonchalantly on glowing embers
which scar his heart pretending to have fun.
The naked ambition for glorious fame
drives him to write satires mocking the clown
who thinks he is president of our game
though the sailing ship conquers his home town.
Although she left him in the sunset fire
that glows eerily on unmoving world
he dreads the coming day he must retire
since only he knows where dragons lie curled.
He wonders why his doppelganger gains
fame and fortune for the same books he writes
while wandering listless after summer rains
to think about rewriting bill of rights.
When Child Harold to the dark tower comes
he finds employment on the thirteenth floor
plotting spreadsheets to calculate the sums
earned by the social justice warrior.
The king under the mountain might play chess
with me disguised in savior robe as Death
if I will sell his story to the press
after running nowhere to catch our breath.
High on holy mountain of inspiration
the door without your temple stands alone
which shows the way back to the home foundation
where the blind wizard reigns on broken stone.
To find the secret cavern of good luck
and cheat devils to give me secret wealth
I go to paradise to rent the truck
by which I explore the weird maze with stealth.
I wear ten thousand masks you cannot see
to play every dead god on stage of truth
then play chess with Death by the laughing sea
when I announce that I am now the sleuth.
Within my home the magic mind-dome glows
true world view through simple consistency
which guides our actions in our vaudeville shows
disguised as god with fearful symmetry.
In all our world of forms the greatest power
which calculates the game of strict brain rules
reincarnates ancient soul in frail flowers
to dictate only I can wear the jewels.
Since I always win the game no one plays
indifferent sunlight glows on the blank wall
because I run far ahead in the maze
which always returns to the first dream hall.
I would try to explain what it all means
but you still try to fix what never broke
since true wisdom is programmed in our genes
and religious doctrine is still the joke.
Since the horror of death burned through my soul
I stand transformed by alchemical flame
to become one mind with the weird White Whole
and sing the song that records every name.
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