Illuminate Some Hidden Truth
© Surazeus
2018 10 26
There is no truth except what we express
through tangled sentences of flashing words
which might illuminate some hidden truth
so we can calculate how to survive
when surfing transformative waves of change
which smash world views built on weak fantasies.
Fragile crusts of snow shimmer in dawn light
that gleams through smoke curling from cabin chimney
which squats among tall pines on mountain slope
overlooking wide valley of low hills
where broad river winds toward the distant sea,
all indifferent to my obsessive thoughts.
I am not in that cabin on steep slope,
getting in touch with strange spirit of nature
since I feel nature anywhere I am,
so I can write poems on transcendent themes
no matter where I am in maze of buildings
that clutter landscape of the dreaming world.
The woman in dress black as raven wings,
who stands frail as mist in library hall,
opens ancient tome of time-fractured pages
that chronicles events of human greed,
detailing tragic waste of hostile wars
that drench Earth with blood of innocent souls.
Reaching electric fingers in my brain,
she activates neurons of its tangled web
to generate visions of human life
so I remember every step of learning
when we ascended evolution coil
to transform from lizards into angels.
The caged bird that sings my angelic name
tweets clues to mysteries of our universe
so though I walk in the valley of death
I see real dangers through shadows of fear
which gives me knowledge to assert my will
for power of life against absolute death.
People who dwelled in the scope of this land
many centuries before I arrived here
left the shadow of their hunger in wind
so I hear their voices in misty swamps
where they fled to escape hostile attacks
of my brothers who forced them off their land.
Thousands of cars glide on highways in rain
where they once hunted deer in quiet woods,
and shopping malls now squat on river plains
where they gathered around fires to feast and sing,
so I stop and look for light of their eyes
long vanished in the blinding gloom of time.
Could I build memorial to each lost soul
who ever woke in the strange dream of light
I would record the progress of their life
as they explored the landscape of their hunger,
seeking the secret of regeneration
so their actions sustain glow of their mind.
We are bundles of energy contained
in fragile frame of flesh-bound skeleton
fueled by chemistry of sunlight and rain
who give each other names to signify
actions we perform in drama of hope
constructing illusion of our world view.
So many iterations of the truth,
we can reveal with complex games of chess
through quest for facts in maze of literature,
spiral outward from effects of our actions
which we record through verses of concepts
to encode human experience with stories.
After feasting on the nutritious meal
with food gathered from landscapes during daytime
we sit in ring of faces around fire
to share stories in the temple of time,
relating comedies of fertile love
and tragedies of destructive desire.
We express basic truths about the world
in complex formulas of swirling words
which reflect reality we perceive
so we should change our world view to match truth
if we want our beliefs to lead us well
through waste land to paradise we create.
I chronicle events in spells of verse
so woman in dress black as raven wings,
who stands frail as mist in library hall,
gives my tome to students who follow trails
we prophets blaze through wilderness of lies
to understand the truth of life and death.
© Surazeus
2018 10 26
There is no truth except what we express
through tangled sentences of flashing words
which might illuminate some hidden truth
so we can calculate how to survive
when surfing transformative waves of change
which smash world views built on weak fantasies.
Fragile crusts of snow shimmer in dawn light
that gleams through smoke curling from cabin chimney
which squats among tall pines on mountain slope
overlooking wide valley of low hills
where broad river winds toward the distant sea,
all indifferent to my obsessive thoughts.
I am not in that cabin on steep slope,
getting in touch with strange spirit of nature
since I feel nature anywhere I am,
so I can write poems on transcendent themes
no matter where I am in maze of buildings
that clutter landscape of the dreaming world.
The woman in dress black as raven wings,
who stands frail as mist in library hall,
opens ancient tome of time-fractured pages
that chronicles events of human greed,
detailing tragic waste of hostile wars
that drench Earth with blood of innocent souls.
Reaching electric fingers in my brain,
she activates neurons of its tangled web
to generate visions of human life
so I remember every step of learning
when we ascended evolution coil
to transform from lizards into angels.
The caged bird that sings my angelic name
tweets clues to mysteries of our universe
so though I walk in the valley of death
I see real dangers through shadows of fear
which gives me knowledge to assert my will
for power of life against absolute death.
People who dwelled in the scope of this land
many centuries before I arrived here
left the shadow of their hunger in wind
so I hear their voices in misty swamps
where they fled to escape hostile attacks
of my brothers who forced them off their land.
Thousands of cars glide on highways in rain
where they once hunted deer in quiet woods,
and shopping malls now squat on river plains
where they gathered around fires to feast and sing,
so I stop and look for light of their eyes
long vanished in the blinding gloom of time.
Could I build memorial to each lost soul
who ever woke in the strange dream of light
I would record the progress of their life
as they explored the landscape of their hunger,
seeking the secret of regeneration
so their actions sustain glow of their mind.
We are bundles of energy contained
in fragile frame of flesh-bound skeleton
fueled by chemistry of sunlight and rain
who give each other names to signify
actions we perform in drama of hope
constructing illusion of our world view.
So many iterations of the truth,
we can reveal with complex games of chess
through quest for facts in maze of literature,
spiral outward from effects of our actions
which we record through verses of concepts
to encode human experience with stories.
After feasting on the nutritious meal
with food gathered from landscapes during daytime
we sit in ring of faces around fire
to share stories in the temple of time,
relating comedies of fertile love
and tragedies of destructive desire.
We express basic truths about the world
in complex formulas of swirling words
which reflect reality we perceive
so we should change our world view to match truth
if we want our beliefs to lead us well
through waste land to paradise we create.
I chronicle events in spells of verse
so woman in dress black as raven wings,
who stands frail as mist in library hall,
gives my tome to students who follow trails
we prophets blaze through wilderness of lies
to understand the truth of life and death.
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