Solutions For Mute Sorrow
© Surazeus
2018 09 08
These early afternoon walks by the river,
that no one can see but us, allocate
odd jumbles of words we pretend to share
because we are good friends, however long
shadows take to shroud the world in mute sorrow.
The tree that stands forever in the sunlight
knows why stone hearts break from constant exchange
of individual snowflakes, though gold clouds
never spill secrets that teach us the way
seeds sprout to crack highways of our mute sorrow.
The man who walked around the market town
for forty years, among wood stalls of goods,
with never anything to buy or sell,
one day stands before the crowd and speaks words
they all dreamed in one great song of mute sorrow.
How can we assemble from floating fragments
of memory and dreams in stories we tell
to show why we are even here at all
the comprehensive mystery of this world
concealed in comedies about mute sorrow?
I cannot be one single human soul
stuck inside the confines of my head
if I can sing so many voices true
to express what the dead forgot to say
before their minds were destroyed by mute sorrow.
Yet they watch us from portraits on the wall
of vast city libraries while outside
cars flash in the sun as they glide somewhere
retracing the true quest of Parzival
to find the grail that will heal our mute sorrow.
The girl in the cage reaches out her hand,
requesting us to help her escape hate
so she can tend her garden in the yard
while her children who leap in flowing capes
play superhero who saves from mute sorrow.
Since we left the farms to work in the city,
when the wizards made bombs that could destroy
the whole world of people in blazing flash,
we all decide to go back to the land
and cultivate solutions for mute sorrow.
Believe in something, even if it means
sacrificing everything for the truth,
so just do what you need to do to live
beyond the ruined walls of paradise
where you grow apple trees from your mute sorrow.
I shovel holes in the ground of my heart
to sacrifice apples to God of Death
for Goddess of Life will spark them to live
so they will sprout from the ruins of cities
destroyed by war that burst from our mute sorrow.
Time is continuous pulsing of hot atoms
that interact in chemical processes
to generate consciousness of our brains
which flicker from illusions of perception
when we break free with passion of mute sorrow.
Can the complex world of seething material
be so well contained in boxes of words
that assemble strange random elements
organized in puzzle of secret meaning
in our search for ways to deal with mute sorrow?
We sit together on library lawn
and slide our fingers tingling over grass
so we can feel the spirit of the world
that spirals from the neurons of our brains
and paints amazing art about mute sorrow.
Though books are coffins of the laughing dead
I avoid eye contact with the weird living
because I do not want to get corralled
through aching compassion for human life
into their psychic dramas of mute sorrow.
While pure light shines beyond all things on Earth,
its intricate beams connect our wild hearts
in shimmering waves of eloquent songs
so though we wander separate paths alone
we wander together with our mute sorrow.
I know what you are thinking every day
because our brains were programmed by first mother
who rose from clear river at dawn of time
and plucked sweet apple from the tree of life
to sing new solutions for mute sorrow.
© Surazeus
2018 09 08
These early afternoon walks by the river,
that no one can see but us, allocate
odd jumbles of words we pretend to share
because we are good friends, however long
shadows take to shroud the world in mute sorrow.
The tree that stands forever in the sunlight
knows why stone hearts break from constant exchange
of individual snowflakes, though gold clouds
never spill secrets that teach us the way
seeds sprout to crack highways of our mute sorrow.
The man who walked around the market town
for forty years, among wood stalls of goods,
with never anything to buy or sell,
one day stands before the crowd and speaks words
they all dreamed in one great song of mute sorrow.
How can we assemble from floating fragments
of memory and dreams in stories we tell
to show why we are even here at all
the comprehensive mystery of this world
concealed in comedies about mute sorrow?
I cannot be one single human soul
stuck inside the confines of my head
if I can sing so many voices true
to express what the dead forgot to say
before their minds were destroyed by mute sorrow.
Yet they watch us from portraits on the wall
of vast city libraries while outside
cars flash in the sun as they glide somewhere
retracing the true quest of Parzival
to find the grail that will heal our mute sorrow.
The girl in the cage reaches out her hand,
requesting us to help her escape hate
so she can tend her garden in the yard
while her children who leap in flowing capes
play superhero who saves from mute sorrow.
Since we left the farms to work in the city,
when the wizards made bombs that could destroy
the whole world of people in blazing flash,
we all decide to go back to the land
and cultivate solutions for mute sorrow.
Believe in something, even if it means
sacrificing everything for the truth,
so just do what you need to do to live
beyond the ruined walls of paradise
where you grow apple trees from your mute sorrow.
I shovel holes in the ground of my heart
to sacrifice apples to God of Death
for Goddess of Life will spark them to live
so they will sprout from the ruins of cities
destroyed by war that burst from our mute sorrow.
Time is continuous pulsing of hot atoms
that interact in chemical processes
to generate consciousness of our brains
which flicker from illusions of perception
when we break free with passion of mute sorrow.
Can the complex world of seething material
be so well contained in boxes of words
that assemble strange random elements
organized in puzzle of secret meaning
in our search for ways to deal with mute sorrow?
We sit together on library lawn
and slide our fingers tingling over grass
so we can feel the spirit of the world
that spirals from the neurons of our brains
and paints amazing art about mute sorrow.
Though books are coffins of the laughing dead
I avoid eye contact with the weird living
because I do not want to get corralled
through aching compassion for human life
into their psychic dramas of mute sorrow.
While pure light shines beyond all things on Earth,
its intricate beams connect our wild hearts
in shimmering waves of eloquent songs
so though we wander separate paths alone
we wander together with our mute sorrow.
I know what you are thinking every day
because our brains were programmed by first mother
who rose from clear river at dawn of time
and plucked sweet apple from the tree of life
to sing new solutions for mute sorrow.
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