Expanding Shape Of Language
© Surazeus
2018 07 16
The shape of language molded by your voice
encloses silence of the words you speak
vibrating through the margins of the air
to bridge the empty space between our eyes.
The tumult of words on the rising stream
reveals my learning in gusts of concern
so I know the luminous space of hope
that leaves me chewing the air of your thoughts.
We sit together on the moss-slick rocks
and catch moths of our hopes that bang on leaves
to shear hours of waking in flash of time
when I realize I might still be alive.
Fluttering leaves throw light into my dark mind
so everything I think is real dissolves
in shifting shadow of the howling tree
but all things emerge intact from dawn light.
Honeysuckle blossoms swirl through my eyes
in frantic stridulation which reveals
location of my voice that echoes far
beyond valley where I scavenge snake eggs.
The illocality of that real point
where I keep time in areas of fog
sifts memory of each season in bright glade
when sheet of rain clears my eyes of debris.
Your sudden voice springing from the cool shade
startles my mind into the present hour
when the blue iris sprouts from field of stones
to elaborate silence in which we speak.
Sun gleams gold halo of anguish from hope
through interlacing branches of my tree
when dawn dilates glare on the unkempt hedge
since shade spills truth in fracture of the world.
Your voice throws silence at my searching eyes
so I return silence back to your hand
on edge of flashing river through my heart
where wild tree grows thick from my ruined skull.
I want to name this river that cuts deep
through our hearts to rip dead leaves from our hands
when words cohere around pulse of desire,
tangled in roots of fears from gravel slush.
The mountain drenched in shadow of rain clouds
devours my eyes with green roots which rise thick
from heart of darkness below cracked stone mask
to hide bright treasure of wealth beyond reach.
The ancient tree that leans across the bridge
of broken stones reaches into my soul
though names of people I love fade in wind
after I carve their letters in thick trunk.
So I stand forever in nameless flowers
whose petals unfold creation of light
in long rhythms of knotted contemplation
since depth of field allows my mind to drift.
I leap beyond lightless pole of the sun
caught by the leaf that holds raindrops intact
when air shimmers translucent with desire
which separates me into thousands of souls.
Sunk deep in my darkness of wordless dream,
I watch clouds shuffle mortal coil of light
to weave neurons in my electric brain
so I have nothing to give hungry dawn.
Lightning lingers between stasis of love
and jagged abrasion of pungent rain,
so though I sit still on the moss-wet rock
everything flows curved through my hollow head.
Language uses my body to express
dark actions of magic medium straight
through darkness to make my wordless soul glow
reflecting secret hopes everyone hides.
That world is formless and nameless till I
invent how I perceive its changing fields
where the inseparable self is revealed
before it dissolves in silence of light.
Hail strafes the field of flowers I designed
so though I know pain of expanding seeds
I find silence centered between my eyes
that flows swirling nowhere I always am.
I kneel at frozen puddle in black mud
and see my own face congealed from the sun
reflected in this blind eye of the world
who alone knows why I am still alive.
© Surazeus
2018 07 16
The shape of language molded by your voice
encloses silence of the words you speak
vibrating through the margins of the air
to bridge the empty space between our eyes.
The tumult of words on the rising stream
reveals my learning in gusts of concern
so I know the luminous space of hope
that leaves me chewing the air of your thoughts.
We sit together on the moss-slick rocks
and catch moths of our hopes that bang on leaves
to shear hours of waking in flash of time
when I realize I might still be alive.
Fluttering leaves throw light into my dark mind
so everything I think is real dissolves
in shifting shadow of the howling tree
but all things emerge intact from dawn light.
Honeysuckle blossoms swirl through my eyes
in frantic stridulation which reveals
location of my voice that echoes far
beyond valley where I scavenge snake eggs.
The illocality of that real point
where I keep time in areas of fog
sifts memory of each season in bright glade
when sheet of rain clears my eyes of debris.
Your sudden voice springing from the cool shade
startles my mind into the present hour
when the blue iris sprouts from field of stones
to elaborate silence in which we speak.
Sun gleams gold halo of anguish from hope
through interlacing branches of my tree
when dawn dilates glare on the unkempt hedge
since shade spills truth in fracture of the world.
Your voice throws silence at my searching eyes
so I return silence back to your hand
on edge of flashing river through my heart
where wild tree grows thick from my ruined skull.
I want to name this river that cuts deep
through our hearts to rip dead leaves from our hands
when words cohere around pulse of desire,
tangled in roots of fears from gravel slush.
The mountain drenched in shadow of rain clouds
devours my eyes with green roots which rise thick
from heart of darkness below cracked stone mask
to hide bright treasure of wealth beyond reach.
The ancient tree that leans across the bridge
of broken stones reaches into my soul
though names of people I love fade in wind
after I carve their letters in thick trunk.
So I stand forever in nameless flowers
whose petals unfold creation of light
in long rhythms of knotted contemplation
since depth of field allows my mind to drift.
I leap beyond lightless pole of the sun
caught by the leaf that holds raindrops intact
when air shimmers translucent with desire
which separates me into thousands of souls.
Sunk deep in my darkness of wordless dream,
I watch clouds shuffle mortal coil of light
to weave neurons in my electric brain
so I have nothing to give hungry dawn.
Lightning lingers between stasis of love
and jagged abrasion of pungent rain,
so though I sit still on the moss-wet rock
everything flows curved through my hollow head.
Language uses my body to express
dark actions of magic medium straight
through darkness to make my wordless soul glow
reflecting secret hopes everyone hides.
That world is formless and nameless till I
invent how I perceive its changing fields
where the inseparable self is revealed
before it dissolves in silence of light.
Hail strafes the field of flowers I designed
so though I know pain of expanding seeds
I find silence centered between my eyes
that flows swirling nowhere I always am.
I kneel at frozen puddle in black mud
and see my own face congealed from the sun
reflected in this blind eye of the world
who alone knows why I am still alive.
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