Atoms Made Of Circles
© Surazeus
2018 11 19
Where is our heart-broken Niobe now
who could weep for death of America
when all her brightest children are struck down
by arrogant thieves disguised by hard mask
of politicians claiming they must rule
to make great America great again
by enslaving uneducated poor
to labor in their factories of wealth?
Who remembers when the cold iron wall
collapsed from brute force of democracy
because wild boy with antlers in thick curls
charged into battle against robot thieves
who suppress the vote by deleting names
of legal citizens with skin so dark
light of justice falls into the blank void
unless we soar on bold Icarian wings?
When time fades between spaces of loud words
at shuddering of frigid commands that freeze
voice of normal people expressing wish
for the simple life working to create
good things with our skilled hands to earn our pay,
since light will shine if we will only wait,
will we wallow in flash of frozen snow
because we are light and water congealed?
Though I take our bright sun into my mouth
and swim through flowers of fire to your blank face
then leap into the breath of all your voices,
will I navigate darkness of despair
to map curves of your body as the Earth,
so we discover mystery of rebirth
after ten thousand years drinking fruit juice
to become purity of silver moonlight?
Can we remember name of every soul
who worked in factories constructing power
these past four hundred years of empire rise
when high above cold twilight of our city
whistles of tower-clocks burst our aching hearts
to follow scrimmage of numbed laborers
who crowd snow-grayed blocks of apartment halls
where children paint dreams with blood on brick walls?
Can I transcend suffering of my ancestors
when we gather on field in evening dusk
to play ball throwing dreams at our lost selves
since photos snapped by smart phones in our hands
preserve transient spirits of aching hearts
who beam clandestine truth in printed words
with infinite octaves of colored thought
through loyal faith in people without names?
At timeless moment when I close my eyes
for the last time to sink into blank death,
will I think about my walks in bright woods
in ancient mountains of whispering pine trees
who remember the first waterfall flash
which still pulses in atoms of my brain
woven from rain storms of ten million years
so we give each other names out of love?
How soon will I heal from knife of your tongue
that stains departed lesson of perfume
to curse my clavicle longbow of faith
cracked from pushing stone of Sisyphus up
mountain of expectation swollen ripe
as pungent bud of apples on dead Tree
of the Knowledge of Good and Evil burned
by mad prophet who wants to be our king?
How much like angels are these ancient trees
on pulsing mountain where prophets assemble
to drink from fresh fountain of the flying horse
and discuss who gets to wear laurel crown
forged from blood-metal of spiraling stars
that meditate quiet as blossoms born
from every feeling I bury unsung
to comprehend algebra of lost faith?
Slouching by Gate of Heaven still unseen
will I ever again see that bright moon
which illumined your love-mirroring face
to translate songs of ravens in tall pines
who know nameless heartmate of my true home
haunting lake shore where we met at twilight
to compose new tune expressing our love
though we search for each other all night long?
With rose-red ribbon wreathing her long hair
and long white gown shrouding her broken heart
to veil face of my bride with sailing chart,
will we kiss and laugh in the wild spring air
that formed our bodies from meadows of trust
so we are free to sing about our flight,
except we work in dark factories all day
sewing dresses and building cars for pay?
Are atoms made of circles in our eyes
to model structure of vast galaxies
which spiral singing around the White Whole
as Spider Goddess who weaves universe
in web of flashing planets where sponge brains
of organic creatures believe that God
assembles molecules like little boy
on river shore who invented the wheel?
© Surazeus
2018 11 19
Where is our heart-broken Niobe now
who could weep for death of America
when all her brightest children are struck down
by arrogant thieves disguised by hard mask
of politicians claiming they must rule
to make great America great again
by enslaving uneducated poor
to labor in their factories of wealth?
Who remembers when the cold iron wall
collapsed from brute force of democracy
because wild boy with antlers in thick curls
charged into battle against robot thieves
who suppress the vote by deleting names
of legal citizens with skin so dark
light of justice falls into the blank void
unless we soar on bold Icarian wings?
When time fades between spaces of loud words
at shuddering of frigid commands that freeze
voice of normal people expressing wish
for the simple life working to create
good things with our skilled hands to earn our pay,
since light will shine if we will only wait,
will we wallow in flash of frozen snow
because we are light and water congealed?
Though I take our bright sun into my mouth
and swim through flowers of fire to your blank face
then leap into the breath of all your voices,
will I navigate darkness of despair
to map curves of your body as the Earth,
so we discover mystery of rebirth
after ten thousand years drinking fruit juice
to become purity of silver moonlight?
Can we remember name of every soul
who worked in factories constructing power
these past four hundred years of empire rise
when high above cold twilight of our city
whistles of tower-clocks burst our aching hearts
to follow scrimmage of numbed laborers
who crowd snow-grayed blocks of apartment halls
where children paint dreams with blood on brick walls?
Can I transcend suffering of my ancestors
when we gather on field in evening dusk
to play ball throwing dreams at our lost selves
since photos snapped by smart phones in our hands
preserve transient spirits of aching hearts
who beam clandestine truth in printed words
with infinite octaves of colored thought
through loyal faith in people without names?
At timeless moment when I close my eyes
for the last time to sink into blank death,
will I think about my walks in bright woods
in ancient mountains of whispering pine trees
who remember the first waterfall flash
which still pulses in atoms of my brain
woven from rain storms of ten million years
so we give each other names out of love?
How soon will I heal from knife of your tongue
that stains departed lesson of perfume
to curse my clavicle longbow of faith
cracked from pushing stone of Sisyphus up
mountain of expectation swollen ripe
as pungent bud of apples on dead Tree
of the Knowledge of Good and Evil burned
by mad prophet who wants to be our king?
How much like angels are these ancient trees
on pulsing mountain where prophets assemble
to drink from fresh fountain of the flying horse
and discuss who gets to wear laurel crown
forged from blood-metal of spiraling stars
that meditate quiet as blossoms born
from every feeling I bury unsung
to comprehend algebra of lost faith?
Slouching by Gate of Heaven still unseen
will I ever again see that bright moon
which illumined your love-mirroring face
to translate songs of ravens in tall pines
who know nameless heartmate of my true home
haunting lake shore where we met at twilight
to compose new tune expressing our love
though we search for each other all night long?
With rose-red ribbon wreathing her long hair
and long white gown shrouding her broken heart
to veil face of my bride with sailing chart,
will we kiss and laugh in the wild spring air
that formed our bodies from meadows of trust
so we are free to sing about our flight,
except we work in dark factories all day
sewing dresses and building cars for pay?
Are atoms made of circles in our eyes
to model structure of vast galaxies
which spiral singing around the White Whole
as Spider Goddess who weaves universe
in web of flashing planets where sponge brains
of organic creatures believe that God
assembles molecules like little boy
on river shore who invented the wheel?
No comments:
Post a Comment