Mauve Scent Of Nine
© Surazeus
2018 10 30
The mauve scent of nine in the morning light
beams evanescent gloom on the owl wing
that protects the sacred book of lost tales
which would provide formulas for new shows
movie wizards want to film on the beach
so they can capture the essence of flight.
While sipping tea in ruins of the church
the princess receives word that it is time,
so she follows them to the sunlit beach
where she expects for her twelfth birthday gift
the crystal ship that can sail to the moon,
but she is condemned to death for her crime.
She struggles to escape the robot claws
as the sneering priest raises sharp sword high,
prepared to cut off her head, so she sings
wordless melody she learned from sea waves,
and the sword becomes red silk scarf she wears
with her black lace dress on Halloween night.
Everyone believes their view of the world
is more correct that what others believe
because they see the world with their own eyes
while others are blinded by false delusions
through ideologies based on principles
designed to deceive all gullible fools.
The princess with three eyes walks past each house
long after midnight to pause by the door
and invent new names for people inside
who think they know the truth about the world
because they heard about it in the news,
then she leaves fresh walnuts on every pillow.
The princess always stands beside my bed
at four in the morning to weave moonlight
in visions that spark how my fingers touch
strange letters on the computer keyboard
which composes program code that controls
how brains dream the history of the White Whole.
While I go about my business every day,
walking with strangers on wide city streets,
the princess of moonlight follows my path
as the shadow of my body who knows
every secret that pulses with my blood,
so I explain to her why I am not.
The wisdom that she learned on the bright beach,
about truth and justice wielded as tools
by weak people who kill to maintain power,
the princess with three eyes passes to me
through her son who was hiding behind boats
when he watched the priest execute his mother.
The priest paid my mother for nights in bed,
but when she became pregnant with his child
and requested he marry her in church
he accused her of consorting with Satan,
so he cut off her head to shut her mouth,
because they would have burned him at the stake.
The boy who knows the secret of the fire,
the great-grandfather of my great-grandfather,
always wakes from mauve dream of ocean waves
when I face danger in the maze of money,
and shows me how to navigate the lies
people tell each other in games of power.
So that is why I now campaign to run
for President of the United States
based on my bloodline of the Holy Grail
that flows from the princess of the wild sea
whose father ruled the kingdom in the mist
that vanished in the blaze of cannon balls.
When I am elected the President
I will design Socialist Capitalism
to balance the extremes of politics
and thus maintain the straight flight of the Eagle,
ensuring every person earns enough
to buy the house and car they need to play.
She will reign beside me in the White House,
the princess with three eyes who knows my name,
for she will reveal through visions of truth
process of action from cause and effect
so we construct our global paradise
based on the principle of give and take.
The Hidden Dragon who will rule the land
hides in the heart of each ambitious man
who gathers followers on social media
and preaches program they will institute
if they are chosen by the bank elite
to steer the ship of state through every storm.
Wandering lost in delusions of world power,
I knock on locked doors and shout trick or treat,
then run naked on windy moonlit moor
and laugh at absurdity of state power
when tyrants battle to control the world
till Death crushes them all into mute dust.
The mauve scent of nine in the twilight zone
shimmers sweeter than sunlight on the water
when I gaze in eyes of my princess bride
who leads me from the labyrinth of ambition
to stand alone on the sea shore at sunset
and write epic poem on the wave-washed sand.
© Surazeus
2018 10 30
The mauve scent of nine in the morning light
beams evanescent gloom on the owl wing
that protects the sacred book of lost tales
which would provide formulas for new shows
movie wizards want to film on the beach
so they can capture the essence of flight.
While sipping tea in ruins of the church
the princess receives word that it is time,
so she follows them to the sunlit beach
where she expects for her twelfth birthday gift
the crystal ship that can sail to the moon,
but she is condemned to death for her crime.
She struggles to escape the robot claws
as the sneering priest raises sharp sword high,
prepared to cut off her head, so she sings
wordless melody she learned from sea waves,
and the sword becomes red silk scarf she wears
with her black lace dress on Halloween night.
Everyone believes their view of the world
is more correct that what others believe
because they see the world with their own eyes
while others are blinded by false delusions
through ideologies based on principles
designed to deceive all gullible fools.
The princess with three eyes walks past each house
long after midnight to pause by the door
and invent new names for people inside
who think they know the truth about the world
because they heard about it in the news,
then she leaves fresh walnuts on every pillow.
The princess always stands beside my bed
at four in the morning to weave moonlight
in visions that spark how my fingers touch
strange letters on the computer keyboard
which composes program code that controls
how brains dream the history of the White Whole.
While I go about my business every day,
walking with strangers on wide city streets,
the princess of moonlight follows my path
as the shadow of my body who knows
every secret that pulses with my blood,
so I explain to her why I am not.
The wisdom that she learned on the bright beach,
about truth and justice wielded as tools
by weak people who kill to maintain power,
the princess with three eyes passes to me
through her son who was hiding behind boats
when he watched the priest execute his mother.
The priest paid my mother for nights in bed,
but when she became pregnant with his child
and requested he marry her in church
he accused her of consorting with Satan,
so he cut off her head to shut her mouth,
because they would have burned him at the stake.
The boy who knows the secret of the fire,
the great-grandfather of my great-grandfather,
always wakes from mauve dream of ocean waves
when I face danger in the maze of money,
and shows me how to navigate the lies
people tell each other in games of power.
So that is why I now campaign to run
for President of the United States
based on my bloodline of the Holy Grail
that flows from the princess of the wild sea
whose father ruled the kingdom in the mist
that vanished in the blaze of cannon balls.
When I am elected the President
I will design Socialist Capitalism
to balance the extremes of politics
and thus maintain the straight flight of the Eagle,
ensuring every person earns enough
to buy the house and car they need to play.
She will reign beside me in the White House,
the princess with three eyes who knows my name,
for she will reveal through visions of truth
process of action from cause and effect
so we construct our global paradise
based on the principle of give and take.
The Hidden Dragon who will rule the land
hides in the heart of each ambitious man
who gathers followers on social media
and preaches program they will institute
if they are chosen by the bank elite
to steer the ship of state through every storm.
Wandering lost in delusions of world power,
I knock on locked doors and shout trick or treat,
then run naked on windy moonlit moor
and laugh at absurdity of state power
when tyrants battle to control the world
till Death crushes them all into mute dust.
The mauve scent of nine in the twilight zone
shimmers sweeter than sunlight on the water
when I gaze in eyes of my princess bride
who leads me from the labyrinth of ambition
to stand alone on the sea shore at sunset
and write epic poem on the wave-washed sand.
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