At Fountain Of Lost Souls
© Surazeus
2018 11 04
The arc of treetop leaves imitates sphere
of my dreaming eyes when I breathe sweet air
that ripples strange thoughts in currents of hope
swelling my body with gusts of desire
to feel plants sprouting from moist flesh of Earth
in quickened cadence of flexible waves.
My feet create rough terrain of my dreams
which rises from previous path of my hope
exploring new world beyond half-seen edge
of tomorrow, always far beyond reach
as I continue toward distant horizon
while breathing impetus of the whole sphere.
Each step I express, touching breast of Earth,
creates new world I never before dreamed
so today blossoms bright from yesterday,
seed of hunger sprouting into fruit tree
when tomorrow lures me to rise from death
and redesign the universe I dream.
For twelve generations of living flesh
we lounge on stone wall of our fountain pool,
drinking desire, washing sorrow away,
splashing each other with flirtatious play,
till the last boy of our bloodline carves blocks
of marble to capture our essential souls.
Now we lounge frozen forever in statues
who almost touch each other with hard hands,
bodies slickened moist by shimmering water
where light of our lost souls gleams in blue depths,
lovers just about to kiss and make love
so we reincarnate our souls in children.
Gaze in my marble eyes where my old soul
glimmers with grief to taste again sweet fruit,
for though I lived long life of active hope,
tending garden where your ancestors played,
I want to wake again inside your mind
and gaze amazed at the change of our world.
The girl who resembles my great-grandmother
steps from the cold fountain of marble gods
and plays sweet melodies on bird-bone flute
that enchants my spirit with timeless hope
to understand the essence of her soul
till I devour time tangled in tree roots.
Though I stand still at fountain of lost souls,
my soul runs forever through maze of doors
to turn sharp corners of forgotten mysteries
so I rise from sleep on tense wings of lust,
aware of myself to focus attention
on notions of wisdom hidden in riddles.
The soul of every person who once stood
on this still point of our slow-spinning world
shimmers awake in my body now here,
silhouetted by clear light of their eyes
so I become them all with timeless dream
that we will die, becoming beams of light.
Afternoon light reveals face of the girl
who touches me with invisible hand
which transforms cluster of my molecules
into cold marble statue of mute minerals
bereaved by puzzling hope for radiance
efficient in absence of grotesque mask.
Though specific memories of their experience
each individual dreams on path of life
vanish at death from neurons of the brain,
yet archetypal patterns of reaction
are programmed in flowing genetic code
so children remember how parents live.
We relive lives our ancestors compose
but swerve away from preprogrammed impulse
to explore beyond scope of their experience
and dream our own way through maze of desires,
creating new terrain from aching hope
to become the absence of our past selves.
Wrapped in darkness of my ancestral path,
I dream what I may become when I act
according to impulse of my own hope
to grow beyond masks of their characters
and evolve into my angelic spirit
so I become perfect ideal of myself.
So when I return to ruins of my past,
Stonehenge, Parthenon, Mykinai, and Ilium,
I find ghosts of myself still so alive,
feeling millions of their minds now awake
inside the flashing neurons of my brain,
that I become the hunger of their absence.
They crowned themselves kings of their roaming tribes
then built strong citadels on shores of rivers
to enforce control over land and people,
then generated children from their bodies
who scattered far across the spinning globe,
so I dream the paths of their quests for love.
How shall I live now in this hungry body,
mapping complete atlas of human history
to record how we rose from sea of lust
exploring terrain of its teeming valleys
and fight monsters till we dominate Earth
then fight each other over water fountains?
© Surazeus
2018 11 04
The arc of treetop leaves imitates sphere
of my dreaming eyes when I breathe sweet air
that ripples strange thoughts in currents of hope
swelling my body with gusts of desire
to feel plants sprouting from moist flesh of Earth
in quickened cadence of flexible waves.
My feet create rough terrain of my dreams
which rises from previous path of my hope
exploring new world beyond half-seen edge
of tomorrow, always far beyond reach
as I continue toward distant horizon
while breathing impetus of the whole sphere.
Each step I express, touching breast of Earth,
creates new world I never before dreamed
so today blossoms bright from yesterday,
seed of hunger sprouting into fruit tree
when tomorrow lures me to rise from death
and redesign the universe I dream.
For twelve generations of living flesh
we lounge on stone wall of our fountain pool,
drinking desire, washing sorrow away,
splashing each other with flirtatious play,
till the last boy of our bloodline carves blocks
of marble to capture our essential souls.
Now we lounge frozen forever in statues
who almost touch each other with hard hands,
bodies slickened moist by shimmering water
where light of our lost souls gleams in blue depths,
lovers just about to kiss and make love
so we reincarnate our souls in children.
Gaze in my marble eyes where my old soul
glimmers with grief to taste again sweet fruit,
for though I lived long life of active hope,
tending garden where your ancestors played,
I want to wake again inside your mind
and gaze amazed at the change of our world.
The girl who resembles my great-grandmother
steps from the cold fountain of marble gods
and plays sweet melodies on bird-bone flute
that enchants my spirit with timeless hope
to understand the essence of her soul
till I devour time tangled in tree roots.
Though I stand still at fountain of lost souls,
my soul runs forever through maze of doors
to turn sharp corners of forgotten mysteries
so I rise from sleep on tense wings of lust,
aware of myself to focus attention
on notions of wisdom hidden in riddles.
The soul of every person who once stood
on this still point of our slow-spinning world
shimmers awake in my body now here,
silhouetted by clear light of their eyes
so I become them all with timeless dream
that we will die, becoming beams of light.
Afternoon light reveals face of the girl
who touches me with invisible hand
which transforms cluster of my molecules
into cold marble statue of mute minerals
bereaved by puzzling hope for radiance
efficient in absence of grotesque mask.
Though specific memories of their experience
each individual dreams on path of life
vanish at death from neurons of the brain,
yet archetypal patterns of reaction
are programmed in flowing genetic code
so children remember how parents live.
We relive lives our ancestors compose
but swerve away from preprogrammed impulse
to explore beyond scope of their experience
and dream our own way through maze of desires,
creating new terrain from aching hope
to become the absence of our past selves.
Wrapped in darkness of my ancestral path,
I dream what I may become when I act
according to impulse of my own hope
to grow beyond masks of their characters
and evolve into my angelic spirit
so I become perfect ideal of myself.
So when I return to ruins of my past,
Stonehenge, Parthenon, Mykinai, and Ilium,
I find ghosts of myself still so alive,
feeling millions of their minds now awake
inside the flashing neurons of my brain,
that I become the hunger of their absence.
They crowned themselves kings of their roaming tribes
then built strong citadels on shores of rivers
to enforce control over land and people,
then generated children from their bodies
who scattered far across the spinning globe,
so I dream the paths of their quests for love.
How shall I live now in this hungry body,
mapping complete atlas of human history
to record how we rose from sea of lust
exploring terrain of its teeming valleys
and fight monsters till we dominate Earth
then fight each other over water fountains?
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