Weird Color Of The Sky
© Surazeus
2018 10 24
While driving winding highway through dark woods
I ponder how people perceive the road
as allegory for journey through life
because for the past twenty thousand years
we walked step by step across the landscape
which mapped our explorations of the world.
After passing one bright spot on the road
that overlooks the theory-sparkling ocean
for the past twenty years, this time I stop
and step out of the car to stand alone
on the edge of the world to become one
with the White Whole of the sea and the sky.
All around me tall trees that cannot walk
moan with sensual pleasure as lusty wind
caresses their limbs and kisses their leaves,
dancing together as they make sweet love
till the sky blazes with orgasmic red
that makes me shiver with ecstatic vision.
Trees and flowers ejaculate seeds that spiral
flashing swarms of desire across the hills
which sprout frail blossoms and saplings from soil
of timeless memory through cycles of love
transforming dirt into bodies of hope
who sing to each other in gusting wind.
During each short phase of my clumsy life
I loved the girl whose eyes dazzled my heart
but I always failed to play the role right,
stumbling through each act, forgetting my lines,
and blushing in awkward hope for her love,
but they vanished, though my sad love remains.
The ghosts of their absence still haunt my soul
as I keep trudging lost on road of life
for I see their faces in every cloud,
when the end of one failed relationship
lead to the beginning of the next try
when I audition as the faithful soulmate.
When I was twelve, forty two years ago,
I dreamed I walked along bleak signless road
toward bright city beyond the windy woods,
holding hands with the blonde girl in blue dress
whose spirit wavered from indifferent sun,
fragile skeleton of death at my side.
Past all my failures on the road of life
I found the one who wants to walk with me
so, bonded by weird color of the sky,
we teach our children how to explore truth
and sing about mysteries of life and death
that make us and destroy us without thought.
Rays of light beam bright from the blazing sun
to pack the Earth with particles of heat
which flash the rain soaking seeds in the soil
so they explode into spirals of flowers
which drop fruit into our hands without care
so we eat desire of both sun and rain.
I drive from work to our home every day
and sit on the leather chair by the hearth
where I write poems on the glowing computer
to record the history of human hope
that shimmers fragile in our aching songs
till time scatters our atoms in mute dust.
Nature transforms unconscious particles
into brains that wake and dream moving shapes
so we signify perceptions with words
and sing to each other in the twilight zone
like frogs croaking by the pond in moonlight,
hoping our poems sing long after we die.
She reads romance novels while I write poems
and our children make videos and draw pictures
while trees in the backyard making singing leaves
which will stand there long after we all die,
but we must create while we are alive
to join the human choir of memory.
© Surazeus
2018 10 24
While driving winding highway through dark woods
I ponder how people perceive the road
as allegory for journey through life
because for the past twenty thousand years
we walked step by step across the landscape
which mapped our explorations of the world.
After passing one bright spot on the road
that overlooks the theory-sparkling ocean
for the past twenty years, this time I stop
and step out of the car to stand alone
on the edge of the world to become one
with the White Whole of the sea and the sky.
All around me tall trees that cannot walk
moan with sensual pleasure as lusty wind
caresses their limbs and kisses their leaves,
dancing together as they make sweet love
till the sky blazes with orgasmic red
that makes me shiver with ecstatic vision.
Trees and flowers ejaculate seeds that spiral
flashing swarms of desire across the hills
which sprout frail blossoms and saplings from soil
of timeless memory through cycles of love
transforming dirt into bodies of hope
who sing to each other in gusting wind.
During each short phase of my clumsy life
I loved the girl whose eyes dazzled my heart
but I always failed to play the role right,
stumbling through each act, forgetting my lines,
and blushing in awkward hope for her love,
but they vanished, though my sad love remains.
The ghosts of their absence still haunt my soul
as I keep trudging lost on road of life
for I see their faces in every cloud,
when the end of one failed relationship
lead to the beginning of the next try
when I audition as the faithful soulmate.
When I was twelve, forty two years ago,
I dreamed I walked along bleak signless road
toward bright city beyond the windy woods,
holding hands with the blonde girl in blue dress
whose spirit wavered from indifferent sun,
fragile skeleton of death at my side.
Past all my failures on the road of life
I found the one who wants to walk with me
so, bonded by weird color of the sky,
we teach our children how to explore truth
and sing about mysteries of life and death
that make us and destroy us without thought.
Rays of light beam bright from the blazing sun
to pack the Earth with particles of heat
which flash the rain soaking seeds in the soil
so they explode into spirals of flowers
which drop fruit into our hands without care
so we eat desire of both sun and rain.
I drive from work to our home every day
and sit on the leather chair by the hearth
where I write poems on the glowing computer
to record the history of human hope
that shimmers fragile in our aching songs
till time scatters our atoms in mute dust.
Nature transforms unconscious particles
into brains that wake and dream moving shapes
so we signify perceptions with words
and sing to each other in the twilight zone
like frogs croaking by the pond in moonlight,
hoping our poems sing long after we die.
She reads romance novels while I write poems
and our children make videos and draw pictures
while trees in the backyard making singing leaves
which will stand there long after we all die,
but we must create while we are alive
to join the human choir of memory.
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