Old Stories Of Wise Heroes

Old Stories Of Wise Heroes
© Surazeus
2018 12 27

The psychic energy of civilization
bubbles up from pool of Amen in Egypt,
flows outward to every stream of the world,
through Salem, Athens, Rome, Paris, and London,
then flows from Boston west to Oregon
where I drank from Fountain of the Flying Horse.

Soft echoes in the ancient wind I hear,
voices of poets who sang ten thousand years,
Homer, Virgil, Ovid, Spenser, Shakespeare,
and Milton, silenced by the motor car
that chugs vast highway networks of lost hope,
so I stand on the Bridge and sing again.

On slopes of Mount Takoma in bright wind
I join Blake, Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley, Keats,
Frost, and Mazer to sing on timeless quest
of mankind seeking clear truth about nature
that shimmers with pulsing atoms of light
which link our minds to dream of the White Whole.

We construct scaffold of songs on old myths
relating stories about our adventures
when we explore beyond perimeter
of social convention bound by strict rules
to rediscover knowledge about nature
our ancestors found on their quest for life.

Wearing masks of ancient philosophers,
I dramatize quests of curious people
to explore the secret nature of things
and build foundation for scientific tools
we employ to measure material forms
that analyze force of cause and effect.

Small colleges of explorers awake
from mythic darkness of cultural dreams
to describe patterns of nature through life
beyond the trick of resorting to gods
that embody forces as conscious beings
and explain growth as indifferent exchange.

Through measurement of tiny particles
we perceive bright atoms of pulsing light
connect through rings of spiraling electrons
that interact through chemical attraction
when molecules aggregate in thick forms
to compose physical bodies of things.

Patterns of social interaction flow
in complex structures of large social groups
when people join institutions to work
on missions of thought-bound communities
lead by the tribal leader idea of God
to preserve the nation in every person.

With every generation we rise higher
from humble Earth to soar among bright clouds
on haughty wings of arrogant desire
by singing spells of adventurous search
on endless quest of mankind to find truth
but they fall silent as the singers die.

I wake inside ancient temple of song
to read spells poets carved on moss-veiled stones
then, lifting Lyre of Hermes from stone altar,
I pluck vibrant strings of harmonious verse
and chant new spells based on legends long lost
to sing again old stories of wise heroes.