Angel Spirit Of Our Time
© Surazeus
2018 08 02
What question should I think about each hour
when I drive my car through the endless maze
of our civilization that sprawls far
beyond the Garden of Eden at dawn
on endless quest to find the Tree of Life
hidden somewhere in the labyrinth of lies?
What prophet-poet will I meet each time
I stop and knock on the numberless door
to ask the time of day, and calculate
number of terrifying dreams I forgot,
and will they explain the arcane wherefore
that encodes archetype of role I play?
Will they invite me in from stormy night
to warm my aching hands by glowing hearth,
then show me where I am on the world globe
that spins forever in the living room
while their face glows half seen in the sad gloom
as they explain the details of our doom?
How shall we measure the days of our lives,
in coffee spoons heaped with ginger tea grains
that sparkle on the meadow where milk cows
sing heart-aching melodies to glass moons
so we can comprehend the truth at last
that each hour of insight becomes the past?
Though April is the cruelest month for love
that blossoms from rotting muck of our hearts,
will we soon resurrect from shattered egg
that nourished new world view we now design
emerging from huge chrysalis of hope
to become angel spirit of our time?
Why am I me and no one else alive,
and why is my own consciousness so bright
as if my mind is radio of hope
receiving weird transmissions from the stars
so I can empathize with every soul
who feels so isolated in their head?
Where shall I drive through labyrinth of roads
on quest for Holy Grail of my Sea Bride
with hope to regenerate ancient soul
that evolves all my ancestors through me
so I vow to fight for true liberty
against the blind tyrant of hungry greed?
How far beyond eye of infinity
shall our planet whirl through boundless abyss,
woven by energy of lust for life
into shimmering sea of the weird White Whole
which generates consciousness of my soul
so I sing joy of love before I die?
What secrets of this strange world shall we share
when we meet at last on library stair
to weave our aching souls through beaming eyes
and walk together in the glowing skies
as if we always knew each other well
before swift explication of this spell?
Why are we even here, alive with lust,
still searching for apple seeds in dry dust
so we can resurrect lush paradise
of fruit trees from stale dreams of tearful eyes
when cruel invaders burned it all to ash
and tried to bury us in hungry Earth?
Who is mute stranger always by my side
who understands the words I never speak
and climbs with me the highest mountain peak
where secret lovers always go to hide
scenes of creative passion we exchange
to conjure happiness with every smile?
What reason do we have to rise each day
we wake again from endless dream of light
that guides our actions in the teeming world
transforming sorrow into strict machine
which calculates the meaning we invent
to rebuild gardens after brutal war?
Who will now reign as the world emperor
to organize all nations in one gang
of human hope we tag with ideograms
connecting all languages in one song
so we join global choir of human rights
to harmonize with principles of truth?
Why am I singing in the silent rain
to build new paradigm of one world view
that reprograms how we perceive the world
which beams the first flash of the flaring forth
through sentences of elegant blank verse
so we dream ourselves part of the White Whole?
© Surazeus
2018 08 02
What question should I think about each hour
when I drive my car through the endless maze
of our civilization that sprawls far
beyond the Garden of Eden at dawn
on endless quest to find the Tree of Life
hidden somewhere in the labyrinth of lies?
What prophet-poet will I meet each time
I stop and knock on the numberless door
to ask the time of day, and calculate
number of terrifying dreams I forgot,
and will they explain the arcane wherefore
that encodes archetype of role I play?
Will they invite me in from stormy night
to warm my aching hands by glowing hearth,
then show me where I am on the world globe
that spins forever in the living room
while their face glows half seen in the sad gloom
as they explain the details of our doom?
How shall we measure the days of our lives,
in coffee spoons heaped with ginger tea grains
that sparkle on the meadow where milk cows
sing heart-aching melodies to glass moons
so we can comprehend the truth at last
that each hour of insight becomes the past?
Though April is the cruelest month for love
that blossoms from rotting muck of our hearts,
will we soon resurrect from shattered egg
that nourished new world view we now design
emerging from huge chrysalis of hope
to become angel spirit of our time?
Why am I me and no one else alive,
and why is my own consciousness so bright
as if my mind is radio of hope
receiving weird transmissions from the stars
so I can empathize with every soul
who feels so isolated in their head?
Where shall I drive through labyrinth of roads
on quest for Holy Grail of my Sea Bride
with hope to regenerate ancient soul
that evolves all my ancestors through me
so I vow to fight for true liberty
against the blind tyrant of hungry greed?
How far beyond eye of infinity
shall our planet whirl through boundless abyss,
woven by energy of lust for life
into shimmering sea of the weird White Whole
which generates consciousness of my soul
so I sing joy of love before I die?
What secrets of this strange world shall we share
when we meet at last on library stair
to weave our aching souls through beaming eyes
and walk together in the glowing skies
as if we always knew each other well
before swift explication of this spell?
Why are we even here, alive with lust,
still searching for apple seeds in dry dust
so we can resurrect lush paradise
of fruit trees from stale dreams of tearful eyes
when cruel invaders burned it all to ash
and tried to bury us in hungry Earth?
Who is mute stranger always by my side
who understands the words I never speak
and climbs with me the highest mountain peak
where secret lovers always go to hide
scenes of creative passion we exchange
to conjure happiness with every smile?
What reason do we have to rise each day
we wake again from endless dream of light
that guides our actions in the teeming world
transforming sorrow into strict machine
which calculates the meaning we invent
to rebuild gardens after brutal war?
Who will now reign as the world emperor
to organize all nations in one gang
of human hope we tag with ideograms
connecting all languages in one song
so we join global choir of human rights
to harmonize with principles of truth?
Why am I singing in the silent rain
to build new paradigm of one world view
that reprograms how we perceive the world
which beams the first flash of the flaring forth
through sentences of elegant blank verse
so we dream ourselves part of the White Whole?
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