Birth Of The Blind Sleuth

Birth Of The Blind Sleuth
© Surazeus
2018 08 17

Sunlight on the flower excites my desire
to walk where the windows know my real name
while I play haunting tunes on violin
made from wood of the tree where the last king
of the world buried crown of arrogance
so he could build river boats with his hands.

My face illuminated by the fire
reveals I am adept at playing the game
of making rules for original sin
through search for Heaven on Icarian wing
to restore my faith in her innocence
when she crowns me Guardian of the Waste Lands.

I walk through elaborate labyrinth of wealth,
searching for key to get-rich-quick scheme
how preachers tell lies of the after-life
so people pay to enter Gates of Heaven
where they will live forever eating fruit
while priests live well now on donated cash.

Slipping through shadows with deceptive stealth,
I try to join ancient religious team
so I can seduce each pretty young wife
who comes to me for the doctrinal lesson
when I kiss her while she plays magic flute
and afterward bless her with holy ash.

Stricken with remorse at the pain I caused,
when I learn she committed suicide
because I got her pregnant with my child,
I walk into the desert of despair
then kneel before the last telephone pole
and pray to the crucified clown of truth.

Nameless in bleak wilderness of the lost,
I discover where blind angels abide,
who meditate in cave where wind blows wild,
so I climb forever the winding stair
that leads me to vision of the White Whole,
then return to the city as the sleuth.