Empty Shell Of Being
© Surazeus
2018 10 08
The naked words that fall out of the book
he never wrote, in waterfall that flows
upward toward infinite nowhere of truth,
reveals secret feelings he long ignored
to climb the highest mountain in the world
and become the wind we breathe in our brains.
The nameless man walks down the city street
becoming everyone who passes by,
then sits beside the fountain in the park
and writes their dreams on moist leaves of the trees
that turn brown and brittle when each soul dies
so he pretends their spirits live in stones.
Two angels, one of fire and one of water,
float slow beside him everywhere he goes
to write formulas of his dreams in snow
with ancient language only ravens know,
so people walking by stop at strange sound
and wonder what the little girl has found.
Lifting his skull from thick roots of the tree,
the little girl who knows how light is born
reveals the arcane symbol carved on bone,
then shows everyone where he sings forlorn
on the glowing stone by the gushing stream
to explain how our bodies are wild clouds.
The one-eyed god sails small boat carved from bones
on endless sea where the black raven glides
to hide the gold crown he lost in dank cave
where old turtles discuss philosophy,
wondering if energy in every object
pulses in tune with divine consciousness.
The small dark red rose, crushed flat in the book
about ancient monsters, reminds him why
he wears the clear mask of the Superman
while dancing on the Rainbow Bridge of Hope
to avoid confrontation with his demon
who imitates his every move in chess.
When she scatters puzzle pieces of faith
on the round table where skeletons sing,
his concepts become so scrambled by codes
in rational derangement of all his senses
that he forgets the name of everything
when he becomes each thing he photographs.
The Ghost Cat glides between rays of pure light
to wear my face in the court of blind angels
who sing enchanting hymns about lost heroes
whose names are written on water of time
so we can tell each other why we love
nothing that glows in empty shell of being.
© Surazeus
2018 10 08
The naked words that fall out of the book
he never wrote, in waterfall that flows
upward toward infinite nowhere of truth,
reveals secret feelings he long ignored
to climb the highest mountain in the world
and become the wind we breathe in our brains.
The nameless man walks down the city street
becoming everyone who passes by,
then sits beside the fountain in the park
and writes their dreams on moist leaves of the trees
that turn brown and brittle when each soul dies
so he pretends their spirits live in stones.
Two angels, one of fire and one of water,
float slow beside him everywhere he goes
to write formulas of his dreams in snow
with ancient language only ravens know,
so people walking by stop at strange sound
and wonder what the little girl has found.
Lifting his skull from thick roots of the tree,
the little girl who knows how light is born
reveals the arcane symbol carved on bone,
then shows everyone where he sings forlorn
on the glowing stone by the gushing stream
to explain how our bodies are wild clouds.
The one-eyed god sails small boat carved from bones
on endless sea where the black raven glides
to hide the gold crown he lost in dank cave
where old turtles discuss philosophy,
wondering if energy in every object
pulses in tune with divine consciousness.
The small dark red rose, crushed flat in the book
about ancient monsters, reminds him why
he wears the clear mask of the Superman
while dancing on the Rainbow Bridge of Hope
to avoid confrontation with his demon
who imitates his every move in chess.
When she scatters puzzle pieces of faith
on the round table where skeletons sing,
his concepts become so scrambled by codes
in rational derangement of all his senses
that he forgets the name of everything
when he becomes each thing he photographs.
The Ghost Cat glides between rays of pure light
to wear my face in the court of blind angels
who sing enchanting hymns about lost heroes
whose names are written on water of time
so we can tell each other why we love
nothing that glows in empty shell of being.
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