Weird Girl On The Wild Sea Shore
© Surazeus
2018 09 10
We are always who we pretend to be
since no one pays attention to our words
that fall out of our eyes and mold the key,
however much we long to fly on birds.
Still in the city, searching for your door,
I look in every window glowing gold
to watch strangers read, who even the score,
while I wander lost on the windy wold.
How strange the contrast between candle glow
and dim sun gleaming through after-rain clouds
where I follow the winding river flow
to ring of stones that wait in whispering woods.
I see distant houses through dripping trees
that hum connected by telephone wires
but I learn secrets from the wordless breeze
that come to me beyond spinning car tires.
The mask I wear reveals the stereotype
I wish I could play on the stage of life
but who would believe the marketing hype
designed to generate money from strife?
I lean against the gnarled oak in moonlight
and contemplate the road I seem to walk
to calculate each chess move wrong or right
that may help me escape this vast gridlock.
Somehow I could maneuver through the maze
to talk my way into the halls of power
by preaching navigation through the haze
based on the compass of the blooming flower.
I follow riddling clues of ancient names,
reciting deeds of emperors and kings
who always dominate our social games
till I can find the broken angel wings.
We walk together close on this strange road
while painting names of long-dead gods on signs
since we invent this new linguistic mode
that leaves forgotten stories on cracked shrines.
When I find weird girl on the wild sea shore
I learn from rhythm of her ancient spell
how to entrance the spirit of the core
by kissing her forever in the dell.
© Surazeus
2018 09 10
We are always who we pretend to be
since no one pays attention to our words
that fall out of our eyes and mold the key,
however much we long to fly on birds.
Still in the city, searching for your door,
I look in every window glowing gold
to watch strangers read, who even the score,
while I wander lost on the windy wold.
How strange the contrast between candle glow
and dim sun gleaming through after-rain clouds
where I follow the winding river flow
to ring of stones that wait in whispering woods.
I see distant houses through dripping trees
that hum connected by telephone wires
but I learn secrets from the wordless breeze
that come to me beyond spinning car tires.
The mask I wear reveals the stereotype
I wish I could play on the stage of life
but who would believe the marketing hype
designed to generate money from strife?
I lean against the gnarled oak in moonlight
and contemplate the road I seem to walk
to calculate each chess move wrong or right
that may help me escape this vast gridlock.
Somehow I could maneuver through the maze
to talk my way into the halls of power
by preaching navigation through the haze
based on the compass of the blooming flower.
I follow riddling clues of ancient names,
reciting deeds of emperors and kings
who always dominate our social games
till I can find the broken angel wings.
We walk together close on this strange road
while painting names of long-dead gods on signs
since we invent this new linguistic mode
that leaves forgotten stories on cracked shrines.
When I find weird girl on the wild sea shore
I learn from rhythm of her ancient spell
how to entrance the spirit of the core
by kissing her forever in the dell.
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