Churches We Rebuild
© Surazeus
2018 09 05
The secrets we give away are not real
as the truths we pretend we understand.
The clever cat shows us how to stay calm
when people try to eat our broken masks
so we sing hymn to celebrate the balm
of Gilead where the sun always shines.
For every road we drive on endless quest
to design meaning of life, that works best
for our obsessions with avoiding death,
ten thousand roads spread out around the world
to multiverses we never perceive.
How are we still alive after all that?
The faith we invent from terror of death
we base on what we wish was more than real.
The fences we build around plots of dirt
to protect our souls from killers and thieves
define the spirit we wish to avoid.
Whenever the owl with weird golden eyes
appears in fruit tree of our secret garden,
we know Death has almost found us again.
Whenever blind children stare through the glass,
we know the moon has become the ripe fruit
that may bring back the memories we lost.
Where can we go now that we are not dead?
Each day we survive indifference of nature,
which at random seems loving or hostile,
we fashion into a new puzzle piece,
then leave the fragments of our endless days
scattered on the table to analyze
what kind of world view they just might display.
Most people will define their character
by what happens to them beyond control,
but some will break out of that fragile shell
and define themselves by how they perform
when they face destructive forces of nature.
Are we supernatural deities of wisdom?
The lies we tell ourselves to stay alive,
as we maneuver through labyrinth of hopes,
shine like stars that illuminate the truth
so we can trust perceptions of our minds.
They are everywhere, always watching us,
we fear as we follow routines of hope,
and watch everyone else with blinking eyes,
but no one now is watching what we do.
I do what I want as long as my actions
hurt no one else, but when they attack me
I fight for the glory of honest fame.
Who will remember my face or my name?
I walk at random through the maze of hopes,
meeting strangers also searching for love,
so we give and take, then go on our way,
holding treasures we make with crafting hands.
When I outwit the monsters of desire
and defeat death with clever active force,
people follow me and obey commands
I express to keep us alive today.
The wisdom of my insightful perceptions
become law for survival of our group
as they elevate me to play their god.
Will the glory of my deeds blind their eyes?
I go beyond the walls of paradise
to explore the wilderness of despair.
Once we rode horses swift across the land
and defeated invaders with sharp swords
to protect our children in secret gardens.
Now we race trucks on vast network of roads
and battle invaders with blasting guns
while planes bomb our churches to heaps of stone.
Now God lies dead under those heaps of stone,
so we wander the bleak waste land alone
till we all realize we are God reborn.
Whom shall we praise in churches we rebuild?
© Surazeus
2018 09 05
The secrets we give away are not real
as the truths we pretend we understand.
The clever cat shows us how to stay calm
when people try to eat our broken masks
so we sing hymn to celebrate the balm
of Gilead where the sun always shines.
For every road we drive on endless quest
to design meaning of life, that works best
for our obsessions with avoiding death,
ten thousand roads spread out around the world
to multiverses we never perceive.
How are we still alive after all that?
The faith we invent from terror of death
we base on what we wish was more than real.
The fences we build around plots of dirt
to protect our souls from killers and thieves
define the spirit we wish to avoid.
Whenever the owl with weird golden eyes
appears in fruit tree of our secret garden,
we know Death has almost found us again.
Whenever blind children stare through the glass,
we know the moon has become the ripe fruit
that may bring back the memories we lost.
Where can we go now that we are not dead?
Each day we survive indifference of nature,
which at random seems loving or hostile,
we fashion into a new puzzle piece,
then leave the fragments of our endless days
scattered on the table to analyze
what kind of world view they just might display.
Most people will define their character
by what happens to them beyond control,
but some will break out of that fragile shell
and define themselves by how they perform
when they face destructive forces of nature.
Are we supernatural deities of wisdom?
The lies we tell ourselves to stay alive,
as we maneuver through labyrinth of hopes,
shine like stars that illuminate the truth
so we can trust perceptions of our minds.
They are everywhere, always watching us,
we fear as we follow routines of hope,
and watch everyone else with blinking eyes,
but no one now is watching what we do.
I do what I want as long as my actions
hurt no one else, but when they attack me
I fight for the glory of honest fame.
Who will remember my face or my name?
I walk at random through the maze of hopes,
meeting strangers also searching for love,
so we give and take, then go on our way,
holding treasures we make with crafting hands.
When I outwit the monsters of desire
and defeat death with clever active force,
people follow me and obey commands
I express to keep us alive today.
The wisdom of my insightful perceptions
become law for survival of our group
as they elevate me to play their god.
Will the glory of my deeds blind their eyes?
I go beyond the walls of paradise
to explore the wilderness of despair.
Once we rode horses swift across the land
and defeated invaders with sharp swords
to protect our children in secret gardens.
Now we race trucks on vast network of roads
and battle invaders with blasting guns
while planes bomb our churches to heaps of stone.
Now God lies dead under those heaps of stone,
so we wander the bleak waste land alone
till we all realize we are God reborn.
Whom shall we praise in churches we rebuild?
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