Sparkles Of Atomic Light
© Surazeus
2018 08 25
Somehow the laughter of the swirling sun,
handless angels born blind from thunderstorms,
animating brains through electric keys,
incarnates soul masks from spiraling seeds.
Constant thoughtless spells of nothing realized
before their time, letters on every door
to secret worlds inside our hollow hearts,
embody ideas our brains invent
to signify objects of sparkling matter,
qualities emanating for their surfaces,
and actions objects perform from hot urge
of passion spinning wheels of inner lust.
Leafless tree of blank branches on brown hill
where I conceal shadows behind my eyes
teaches me hard truth I tried to avoid
about the girl I love who looks at me
with eagle wings, so I float in our pool.
Who are these ghosts still beaming from my eyes
to perform roles of their long-forgotten lives?
Each ancestor who appears from my dreams
teaches me some lesson they learned from life
that helped them escape the horror of death
long enough to reincarnate their soul
in the next child who weaves dreams in my brain.
Sunlight glinting on the window of time
reveals the path that lead me to this life
beyond the crumbling walls of paradise.
Strangers say things to me in twilight gloom
but I walk past them on mute dusty road
though they tug my sleeve, so I try to turn
my body into the raven who laughs.
I flap my arms and caw, then hop in doom
to slip beyond the beaming door of time
and walk outside to the glistening pool
where celebrities and movie stars play,
so I write stories on their care-free lives
for the daily tabloid all their fans read.
Who appears more often on silver screen,
playing glamorous goddess of the fame stage
since courtiers bowed before the king and queen
to perform in drama of marriage power
when I maneuver my daughter to marry
to boy who inherits the royal crown.
Driving endless maze of America,
the salesman knocks on every numbered door
to sell new encyclopedias to housewives
who feed babies while watching soap operas
about the bitch queen who manipulates
the richest man in town to marry her
and buy her expensive mansion and car
before he dies in the strange accident.
The mute girl runs frightened from market town,
followed by ravens on wings of moonlight,
to hide in dark cave by the gushing river
where she brews potions of mushrooms and frogs
that cause psychedelic visions to flash
billion years of evolution in her eyes
so she sees how mice evolve into monkeys
who learn to walk upright in ocean waves
while gazing at her face in silver pool.
The vast galactic network of bright neurons
that weave complex tapestry of my brain
gets sucked into black hole of consciousness
then flowers outward in hologram of dreams
incarnate in bodies of molecules
who look at each other on field of eyes,
touch hands, kiss lips, and melt eyes in long vines
of sparkling grapes that squirt juice in our mouths
when we make love in silver moonlit rain
to become the universe we are not.
Somehow laughter of summer wind in willows,
remembering glow of light on river stones,
explains how we wake up long after dawn,
holding hands, strangers without secret names.
The Rose Window of our civilization
was shattered by industrial bombs of greed,
so I rebuild the cathedral of truth
based on philosophy of aching love,
because the world is modeled by my eye
to conjure realm of ideas in my brain.
My mind is blow about the paradox
that quantum elements of time and space
appear either as waves or particles
depending on the measuring instrument
employed to perceive their existing concepts,
till I realize long after midnight hour
while tripping on lysergic acid juice
that the entire fabric of time and space
is stitched from surging Waves of Particles
that seethe in spiraling splashes of forms
who wake up in vast Sea of Conscious Souls
and see ourselves in eyes of other people
for all living organisms on Earth
evolve from first Eye of Infinite Love.
I am the emptiness of my own house.
Ghosts are the absence of people I love.
Spirit is sparkles of atomic light
flashing in every cell of my frail body
when I breathe the cosmic soul of truth
who wakes up in the weird dreams of my mind
and calls itself God, fragment of starlight
incarnate in throbbing sponge of my brain.
© Surazeus
2018 08 25
Somehow the laughter of the swirling sun,
handless angels born blind from thunderstorms,
animating brains through electric keys,
incarnates soul masks from spiraling seeds.
Constant thoughtless spells of nothing realized
before their time, letters on every door
to secret worlds inside our hollow hearts,
embody ideas our brains invent
to signify objects of sparkling matter,
qualities emanating for their surfaces,
and actions objects perform from hot urge
of passion spinning wheels of inner lust.
Leafless tree of blank branches on brown hill
where I conceal shadows behind my eyes
teaches me hard truth I tried to avoid
about the girl I love who looks at me
with eagle wings, so I float in our pool.
Who are these ghosts still beaming from my eyes
to perform roles of their long-forgotten lives?
Each ancestor who appears from my dreams
teaches me some lesson they learned from life
that helped them escape the horror of death
long enough to reincarnate their soul
in the next child who weaves dreams in my brain.
Sunlight glinting on the window of time
reveals the path that lead me to this life
beyond the crumbling walls of paradise.
Strangers say things to me in twilight gloom
but I walk past them on mute dusty road
though they tug my sleeve, so I try to turn
my body into the raven who laughs.
I flap my arms and caw, then hop in doom
to slip beyond the beaming door of time
and walk outside to the glistening pool
where celebrities and movie stars play,
so I write stories on their care-free lives
for the daily tabloid all their fans read.
Who appears more often on silver screen,
playing glamorous goddess of the fame stage
since courtiers bowed before the king and queen
to perform in drama of marriage power
when I maneuver my daughter to marry
to boy who inherits the royal crown.
Driving endless maze of America,
the salesman knocks on every numbered door
to sell new encyclopedias to housewives
who feed babies while watching soap operas
about the bitch queen who manipulates
the richest man in town to marry her
and buy her expensive mansion and car
before he dies in the strange accident.
The mute girl runs frightened from market town,
followed by ravens on wings of moonlight,
to hide in dark cave by the gushing river
where she brews potions of mushrooms and frogs
that cause psychedelic visions to flash
billion years of evolution in her eyes
so she sees how mice evolve into monkeys
who learn to walk upright in ocean waves
while gazing at her face in silver pool.
The vast galactic network of bright neurons
that weave complex tapestry of my brain
gets sucked into black hole of consciousness
then flowers outward in hologram of dreams
incarnate in bodies of molecules
who look at each other on field of eyes,
touch hands, kiss lips, and melt eyes in long vines
of sparkling grapes that squirt juice in our mouths
when we make love in silver moonlit rain
to become the universe we are not.
Somehow laughter of summer wind in willows,
remembering glow of light on river stones,
explains how we wake up long after dawn,
holding hands, strangers without secret names.
The Rose Window of our civilization
was shattered by industrial bombs of greed,
so I rebuild the cathedral of truth
based on philosophy of aching love,
because the world is modeled by my eye
to conjure realm of ideas in my brain.
My mind is blow about the paradox
that quantum elements of time and space
appear either as waves or particles
depending on the measuring instrument
employed to perceive their existing concepts,
till I realize long after midnight hour
while tripping on lysergic acid juice
that the entire fabric of time and space
is stitched from surging Waves of Particles
that seethe in spiraling splashes of forms
who wake up in vast Sea of Conscious Souls
and see ourselves in eyes of other people
for all living organisms on Earth
evolve from first Eye of Infinite Love.
I am the emptiness of my own house.
Ghosts are the absence of people I love.
Spirit is sparkles of atomic light
flashing in every cell of my frail body
when I breathe the cosmic soul of truth
who wakes up in the weird dreams of my mind
and calls itself God, fragment of starlight
incarnate in throbbing sponge of my brain.
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