Feast On Shadows
© Surazeus
2018 11 21
Light from the setting sun pierces my eye
with memory of when the sun first swirled swift
to forge bright atoms of my pulsing brain
in spirit-molding furnace of its heart.
I look around the crowded living room
to stare at curious faces of my family,
and feel how strange it is they are alive,
yet sit quiet as they chat with each other.
Since we arrived four hundred years ago,
we gather every autumn at large table
to share grand feast that celebrates our wealth,
thriving in this land we stole from wild tribes.
I shudder wretched at accusing glare
of their silent eyes staring at my face
from eerie shadows of the ancient past
while I eat delicious cranberry sauce.
Leaping up from my chair with polished shoes
I step on the table with plates of food
and strut like the turkey, flapping my arms,
as I squawk, "Land thieves commit genocide."
Two uncles and my father grab my arms
and drag me off the table with strong hands,
and my feet jerk the table cloth to cause
thirty glasses of wine to spill red blood.
"We killed the people who lived on this land
long before we came and drove them away,"
I shout with serious conviction of truth,
"because you shot them all to take this land."
Dragging me through the kitchen down steep stairs,
they lock me in the cellar by myself,
so I stare out small window at half moon
and sing, "This land belongs to them, not us."
I never step on the table to prance
like the turkey demanding equal rights,
since I still sit quietly in my chair
and stare at people hiding behind masks.
Eating turkey, sweet yams, and pumpkin pie,
I imagine my Puritan ancestors
near dark woods on rough Massachusetts shore,
chanting prayers at long tables in red mist.
Driven from misty Isle of Avalon
by church leaders who condemn our beliefs,
long after all the care-free fairies died,
we invade rugged woods where wild tribes live.
Lying flat in the boat with large flapping sails,
I gaze up at infinite emptiness
and sail to meet the spirits of the dead
who feast on shadows of the beaming light.
© Surazeus
2018 11 21
Light from the setting sun pierces my eye
with memory of when the sun first swirled swift
to forge bright atoms of my pulsing brain
in spirit-molding furnace of its heart.
I look around the crowded living room
to stare at curious faces of my family,
and feel how strange it is they are alive,
yet sit quiet as they chat with each other.
Since we arrived four hundred years ago,
we gather every autumn at large table
to share grand feast that celebrates our wealth,
thriving in this land we stole from wild tribes.
I shudder wretched at accusing glare
of their silent eyes staring at my face
from eerie shadows of the ancient past
while I eat delicious cranberry sauce.
Leaping up from my chair with polished shoes
I step on the table with plates of food
and strut like the turkey, flapping my arms,
as I squawk, "Land thieves commit genocide."
Two uncles and my father grab my arms
and drag me off the table with strong hands,
and my feet jerk the table cloth to cause
thirty glasses of wine to spill red blood.
"We killed the people who lived on this land
long before we came and drove them away,"
I shout with serious conviction of truth,
"because you shot them all to take this land."
Dragging me through the kitchen down steep stairs,
they lock me in the cellar by myself,
so I stare out small window at half moon
and sing, "This land belongs to them, not us."
I never step on the table to prance
like the turkey demanding equal rights,
since I still sit quietly in my chair
and stare at people hiding behind masks.
Eating turkey, sweet yams, and pumpkin pie,
I imagine my Puritan ancestors
near dark woods on rough Massachusetts shore,
chanting prayers at long tables in red mist.
Driven from misty Isle of Avalon
by church leaders who condemn our beliefs,
long after all the care-free fairies died,
we invade rugged woods where wild tribes live.
Lying flat in the boat with large flapping sails,
I gaze up at infinite emptiness
and sail to meet the spirits of the dead
who feast on shadows of the beaming light.
You are unable to kill me..I laugh, you could be out of mist and simple to make some one on proper stage.
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