Born From Traveling Pioneers
© Surazeus
2018 11 28
Fractured fragments of nature scenes flash fast
through twisting telescope of dreaming eyes
when I drift half-awake on Greyhound bus
that travels from Miami to Seattle.
Yet somewhere in rolling hills of Missouri
I wake in carriage pulled by trotting horses
so I look out at timeless misty fields
to see all shopping malls and houses vanish.
Have I slipped outside standard stream of time,
I wonder, gazing at young woman dressed
in yellow gown with ribbons in her hair,
and loop back now two hundred years before?
My mind imagines how times were back then
when we rode horses for ten thousand years
on journey from Scythia to Oregon
where I was born from traveling pioneers.
How much has changed in two short centuries,
I ponder as I gaze at wagon train
that slowly rolls where cars now zoom on highway,
transforming from farms into space-age empire.
Once Barsanti envisioned piston engine,
while teaching physics at Italian college,
our civilization transformed beyond
wagons pulled by horses to speeding cars.
Ten thousand years horses pull four-wheel wagons,
but piston engines fueled by gasoline
motorize cars that zoom faster and sleeker
as we race each other for prize of power.
My great-grandfather first learned how to drive
motor car by pressing petals to spark
pistons spinning axles that turn four wheels
so we can zoom faster on endless roads.
Then for one moment, floating between eras,
I find myself on both carriage and bus
gliding over the same space on the world
which combines two centuries in flashing flow.
Back on the bus I wake from eerie dream,
and see again the shopping malls and houses
where people drive about their daily lives,
ten million motor cars on web of roads.
Can I control my own weird destiny
if I could drive my own car through vast maze
and navigate through labyrinth of lost myths
by choosing where I want to drive today?
Then somewhere in the Waste Land of the West
I see Tom Eliot wandering alone,
so I get off the bus and join his quest
to find the Holy Grail of sacred truth.
I am the nameless shadow at his side,
translating songs of thunder into poems
which I compose with blood on ancient scroll
then read epic poem in huge city squares.
Then leaving him behind in old stone church,
where he laments fall of civilization,
I continue backward on trail of time
to stand with Ishtar on high ziggurat.
One thousand empires through ten thousand years
rise and fall on foundations of stone halls
where gangsters crown themselves as royal masters
and design religions that worship founders.
Arriving in Seattle on the bus,
I walk to where the Angel came to me
and appointed me Messenger of God
and laugh because I found that I am God.
© Surazeus
2018 11 28
Fractured fragments of nature scenes flash fast
through twisting telescope of dreaming eyes
when I drift half-awake on Greyhound bus
that travels from Miami to Seattle.
Yet somewhere in rolling hills of Missouri
I wake in carriage pulled by trotting horses
so I look out at timeless misty fields
to see all shopping malls and houses vanish.
Have I slipped outside standard stream of time,
I wonder, gazing at young woman dressed
in yellow gown with ribbons in her hair,
and loop back now two hundred years before?
My mind imagines how times were back then
when we rode horses for ten thousand years
on journey from Scythia to Oregon
where I was born from traveling pioneers.
How much has changed in two short centuries,
I ponder as I gaze at wagon train
that slowly rolls where cars now zoom on highway,
transforming from farms into space-age empire.
Once Barsanti envisioned piston engine,
while teaching physics at Italian college,
our civilization transformed beyond
wagons pulled by horses to speeding cars.
Ten thousand years horses pull four-wheel wagons,
but piston engines fueled by gasoline
motorize cars that zoom faster and sleeker
as we race each other for prize of power.
My great-grandfather first learned how to drive
motor car by pressing petals to spark
pistons spinning axles that turn four wheels
so we can zoom faster on endless roads.
Then for one moment, floating between eras,
I find myself on both carriage and bus
gliding over the same space on the world
which combines two centuries in flashing flow.
Back on the bus I wake from eerie dream,
and see again the shopping malls and houses
where people drive about their daily lives,
ten million motor cars on web of roads.
Can I control my own weird destiny
if I could drive my own car through vast maze
and navigate through labyrinth of lost myths
by choosing where I want to drive today?
Then somewhere in the Waste Land of the West
I see Tom Eliot wandering alone,
so I get off the bus and join his quest
to find the Holy Grail of sacred truth.
I am the nameless shadow at his side,
translating songs of thunder into poems
which I compose with blood on ancient scroll
then read epic poem in huge city squares.
Then leaving him behind in old stone church,
where he laments fall of civilization,
I continue backward on trail of time
to stand with Ishtar on high ziggurat.
One thousand empires through ten thousand years
rise and fall on foundations of stone halls
where gangsters crown themselves as royal masters
and design religions that worship founders.
Arriving in Seattle on the bus,
I walk to where the Angel came to me
and appointed me Messenger of God
and laugh because I found that I am God.
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