Thursday, June 21, 2018

Taken From Their Mother

Taken From Their Mother
© Surazeus
2018 06 21

This hour we come upon the fallen star
we make up stories to explain the why,
and then we ask who invented the car
that we fly soaring in the cloud-bright sky.

The small child taken from their mother cries
and searches long for her forgotten face
while tearing pictures from the book of lies
to map their quest beyond the perfect place.

Though here we dwell for many hungry years
to tie ourselves to family while we roam
no painted picture captures bitter tears
because no house will ever feel like home.

I stop and stand before every locked door
to name the restless soul who lives inside
while tending love flame in my darkest core
and yet avoid my role as spirit guide.

The grown child taken from their mother sings
hymns of faith in silent church of lost souls
but they who hear the flash of angel wings
wander deceived by the trickster of goals.

I snap this mental photograph of time
to paint scenario showing how they play
brutal game of power when the divine mime
weaves illusions with words they try to pray.

We know the way through labyrinth of rules
so we swerve far off path of righteousness,
hoping to escape sinking ship of fools
that drifts nowhere on sea of consciousness.

The mute child taken from their mother stares
helpless while men with guns take them to cage
where children pretend to be carefree bears
whose daydreams hide spark of mind-numbing rage.

The prophet who appears at prison gate,
once crucified on the telephone pole,
to free the children from the money state,
ponders if he should play the martyr role.

The prison guards shoot the prophet of truth
though they worship him on Sabbath in church
so he returns as the journalist sleuth,
seeking to knock the tyrant off his perch.

The blind child taken from their mother prowls
through endless maze of empire to retrieve
Book of Secret Codes that translate our howls
of outrage at lies the faithful believe.

The mafia don elected president
places crown of Napoleon on his head
though haughty pride, it now seems evident,
will leave the cruelest tyrant always dead.

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