Ghosts Of Space
© Surazeus
2018 06 10
The ghosts of everyone who ever lived
are empty holes of gaping conscious lust
which swallow energy of our desires
although we weave their memories of hope
in fabric of our streaming molecules
so we inhabit our bodies of space.
The ghosts of every generation lost
flash in the mirror where I see my face
express the sorrow of blue afternoon
where children in the zoo of the mad king
play hide and seek with spirits they most fear
who challenge our right to inhabit space.
The ghosts of every age that passed away
remain around us in the sparkling air
because eternity is timelessness
and not unending timespan, so we live
in this one moment outside changing time
and flash with energy of vibrant space.
The ghosts whose lives perform each formula
of give and take through the cause and effect
of social interaction write the script
of every drama played on stage of life
to illustrate all archetypal tropes
explored by conscious relations with space.
The ghosts of farmers, warriors, kings, and craftsmen,
zap through the sparkling neurons of my brain
so I remember how each one reached their hands
to grasp material of our universe,
attempting to control process of nature
to secure our survival in thick space.
The ghosts of family, friends, and enemies
follow behind me like engine exhaust
because their hopes and dreams fuel my quest
to surf the social spirit of our times
and sing unconscious horrors we suppress
in catchy pop tunes that roseate space.
The ghosts of angels and devils who fought
to control the destiny of my soul
float wingless in slanting rays of sunlight
which beam through windows in cathedral halls
where I awake in bright epiphany
that my brain is one conscious god of space.
The ghosts of tyrants seeking clemency
fail to suborn my Atheist Testament
presenting mystery of the Great White Whole
from which all stars flared forth at the First Flash
that blooms from singularity of soul
in mental virtual world which mirrors space.
The ghosts of every poet who sang visions
of human perception congealed in words
shimmer around us in vast choir of angels
so we breathe deep the spirit of the sun
and join their ancient choir of ringing tunes
to conjure palaces of light in space.
The ghosts of everyone who will be born
flock as Cupids around the heads of lovers
who generate new children from sweet pleasure
so they continue song of aching hope,
performing their own roles in game of lust
to sing before the Sun burns Earth from space.
© Surazeus
2018 06 10
The ghosts of everyone who ever lived
are empty holes of gaping conscious lust
which swallow energy of our desires
although we weave their memories of hope
in fabric of our streaming molecules
so we inhabit our bodies of space.
The ghosts of every generation lost
flash in the mirror where I see my face
express the sorrow of blue afternoon
where children in the zoo of the mad king
play hide and seek with spirits they most fear
who challenge our right to inhabit space.
The ghosts of every age that passed away
remain around us in the sparkling air
because eternity is timelessness
and not unending timespan, so we live
in this one moment outside changing time
and flash with energy of vibrant space.
The ghosts whose lives perform each formula
of give and take through the cause and effect
of social interaction write the script
of every drama played on stage of life
to illustrate all archetypal tropes
explored by conscious relations with space.
The ghosts of farmers, warriors, kings, and craftsmen,
zap through the sparkling neurons of my brain
so I remember how each one reached their hands
to grasp material of our universe,
attempting to control process of nature
to secure our survival in thick space.
The ghosts of family, friends, and enemies
follow behind me like engine exhaust
because their hopes and dreams fuel my quest
to surf the social spirit of our times
and sing unconscious horrors we suppress
in catchy pop tunes that roseate space.
The ghosts of angels and devils who fought
to control the destiny of my soul
float wingless in slanting rays of sunlight
which beam through windows in cathedral halls
where I awake in bright epiphany
that my brain is one conscious god of space.
The ghosts of tyrants seeking clemency
fail to suborn my Atheist Testament
presenting mystery of the Great White Whole
from which all stars flared forth at the First Flash
that blooms from singularity of soul
in mental virtual world which mirrors space.
The ghosts of every poet who sang visions
of human perception congealed in words
shimmer around us in vast choir of angels
so we breathe deep the spirit of the sun
and join their ancient choir of ringing tunes
to conjure palaces of light in space.
The ghosts of everyone who will be born
flock as Cupids around the heads of lovers
who generate new children from sweet pleasure
so they continue song of aching hope,
performing their own roles in game of lust
to sing before the Sun burns Earth from space.
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