Monday, October 29, 2018

Mask Of The Laughing Witch

Mask Of The Laughing Witch
© Surazeus
2018 10 29

I never notice the fire in my eye
till other people look at me sideways
so we get in the car and drive somewhere
narrow tree-lined streets past pretty brick homes
where people keep the skulls of the ancestors
in the windows and nailed to their front doors.

Lightning is always flashing white in clouds
of thoughtful consideration through signs
we navigate the wrong way so we look
at maps that dissolve and change as we talk
nonsense words in new language we invent
to communicate with turtles in ponds.

We drive up and down quaint suburban roads,
looking for the house we know we just bought
but every road looks different from the photo
in the magazine we look at before
rain smears our faces on the fractured glass
so I sing I see your face in the moon.

We drive past leafless maples without shapes,
blurred gray through windshield that twists silver rays
on the unfamiliar road where we married
before we were born in the rain-wet park
because we sit together in the room
we never remember without our faces.

Ten thousand natural shocks wake me from dream
that seems more real than my real daily life
because I know that road I never drove
and I know that woman without her name
who always smiles at me with flashing eyes
and explains things so I can understand.

I see her everywhere I never look
so we hold hands while walking signless road
toward city of illusions beyond trees
though our child died just after they were born
so their absence haunts us for many years
even after we raise eight healthy children.

These puzzles cannot illustrate the truth
enough to satisfy my mirror self
so we open doors of every weird house
to walk forever hallways of mute fear
where voices whisper formulas for love
which the blind wizard copies on sea sand.

This dream we walk together in the snow
on sunny afternoon when the full moon
shimmers silver as the heart I gave you
before you sailed across the sea of stars
where the piano houses the library
of lost tales in labyrinth of its conceit.

Halfway around the world in spooky distance
our hearts beat in tune with faint melody
that vibrates all around the world on waves
of radio static which hides our love spells
no one else can translate from coded verse
so we eat applesauce on the lake shore.

The purple rose that flowers from my brain
conceals fractured ego I left behind
when I escaped the concentration camp
and walked eighty years through Broceliande
in futile quest to understand why stars
spark unique consciousness in my own head.

I walk through doors, halls, and vast empty rooms,
searching for the secret place where my name
melts to form the mask of the Laughing Witch
I wear in Parliament to represent
district in misty woods of Fairy Land,
appointed by Oberon to lead the quest.

I never notice the glass mask I wear
till people laugh when they meet me at parties
so I explain absurdity of dreams
since my brain imposes false narrative
to explain why I am me and no one else,
one alive out of billions of dead souls.

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