Aching Song Of The Ocean
© Surazeus
2018 10 21
The aching song of the ocean conspires
to wake the seeds of trees inside my breast
so lust for life wrenches through my sponge brain
soggy with rain from tears of lonely lovers
who give each other leaves full of love songs
translated into arcane spells of hope.
Stumbling around half asleep in the sun,
we follow routine of success programmed
to maximize production of desire
through generation of slick energy
to fuel ambitious quest for paradise,
then lie awake all night plotting revenge.
Strange howling voice of wordless faith returns
each clicking hour to remind me how truth
sits solid as the rock on ocean shore
regardless of how we depict its thingness
in fantasy of rainbows beaming bright
joyful angst of love I feel for you always.
Gingerly over jagged rocks of trust
we step barefoot from steep cliff of despair
then dive in pristine waters of the sea
to float in flickering rays of memories
stored in our brains from when we were still fish
searching to reincarnate before death.
Walking alone the leaf-strewn trail of hope
among whispering trees, the young woman laughs
and looks back at me with eyes sparkling clear
as the ocean at dawn in blissful hour
before hunger urges me to crawl slowly
gritty sand, digging for eggs of swift birds.
Holding hands of fearless trust, we stroll strand
of shimmering sand where swirling waves reveal
indifferent truth about death we accept,
then pause at weird harmonious melody
sung by the oldest woman in the world
whose words conjure visions in blinking eyes.
Eyeless woman sings about how the sun
weaves tapestry of our world from her dreams,
then dips seashell in cauldron of fruit juice
bubbling with intense passion of desire
and offers it for us to drink with hands
that molded mountains with erupting flames.
We drink the fruit juice bubbling in her heart,
and taste the sunlight that shatters the void,
and taste the wild wind that swirls sparkling clouds,
and taste the rivers that swell from cold rains,
and taste the soil that explodes seeds in plants,
so we dance laughing with ceaseless sea waves.
The aching song of the ocean explains
laughter of twin girls who strum ringing harps
which leads melancholy people to follow
ephemeral lights down to the ocean shore
where angst at being losers in social games
vanishes in gusts of indifferent wind.
This transitory body I inhabit
is all I will be in vast flow of time
when random particles congeal to form
this flashing brain where my soul beams alive
so I must sing the melody of love
wild swirling sea waves spiral through my heart.
© Surazeus
2018 10 21
The aching song of the ocean conspires
to wake the seeds of trees inside my breast
so lust for life wrenches through my sponge brain
soggy with rain from tears of lonely lovers
who give each other leaves full of love songs
translated into arcane spells of hope.
Stumbling around half asleep in the sun,
we follow routine of success programmed
to maximize production of desire
through generation of slick energy
to fuel ambitious quest for paradise,
then lie awake all night plotting revenge.
Strange howling voice of wordless faith returns
each clicking hour to remind me how truth
sits solid as the rock on ocean shore
regardless of how we depict its thingness
in fantasy of rainbows beaming bright
joyful angst of love I feel for you always.
Gingerly over jagged rocks of trust
we step barefoot from steep cliff of despair
then dive in pristine waters of the sea
to float in flickering rays of memories
stored in our brains from when we were still fish
searching to reincarnate before death.
Walking alone the leaf-strewn trail of hope
among whispering trees, the young woman laughs
and looks back at me with eyes sparkling clear
as the ocean at dawn in blissful hour
before hunger urges me to crawl slowly
gritty sand, digging for eggs of swift birds.
Holding hands of fearless trust, we stroll strand
of shimmering sand where swirling waves reveal
indifferent truth about death we accept,
then pause at weird harmonious melody
sung by the oldest woman in the world
whose words conjure visions in blinking eyes.
Eyeless woman sings about how the sun
weaves tapestry of our world from her dreams,
then dips seashell in cauldron of fruit juice
bubbling with intense passion of desire
and offers it for us to drink with hands
that molded mountains with erupting flames.
We drink the fruit juice bubbling in her heart,
and taste the sunlight that shatters the void,
and taste the wild wind that swirls sparkling clouds,
and taste the rivers that swell from cold rains,
and taste the soil that explodes seeds in plants,
so we dance laughing with ceaseless sea waves.
The aching song of the ocean explains
laughter of twin girls who strum ringing harps
which leads melancholy people to follow
ephemeral lights down to the ocean shore
where angst at being losers in social games
vanishes in gusts of indifferent wind.
This transitory body I inhabit
is all I will be in vast flow of time
when random particles congeal to form
this flashing brain where my soul beams alive
so I must sing the melody of love
wild swirling sea waves spiral through my heart.
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