Prophet Of Your Zombie God
© Surazeus
2018 12 20
Quaint algorithm of the falling door
reveals conceptual riddles we adore
to build cathedrals on their broken bones
when skulls of prophets mirror crystal stones.
Down ancient roads we stumble toward our goal
escaping arrogance of thought control
before the latest tyrant steals our eyes
and charges us tax for light from free skies.
This rain that flashes secret memories
reveals how we win back lost liberties
to exercise bold freedom speaking truth
detected by perception of the sleuth.
Strange jagged landscape of my waking dream
presents aggressive progress of the stream
that shapes the contours of our aching faith
at second coming of the chanting wraith.
Along smooth curving road we glide on wind
to trace new navigation of the mind
since I was born at fountain of the horse
who teaches me to play the honor course.
Wherever on this Earth I soon may roam
I hope to understand the trick of home
where lovers lounge by frame of glowing hearth
to share lost stories of the turning Earth.
I climb high mountain to your waterfall
and build from dragon bones the feasting hall
where lost souls gather by the singing stage
to see our angel locked in golden cage.
Deep in these riddles calculating truth
you might discover secret of the sleuth
whose second coming was so long foretold
we never thought true justice would be sold.
I am not prophet of your zombie god
whose lie of resurrection is the fraud
which blinds the eyes of people to the facts
that heaven is no more that forest tracks.
So follow pleasure of your agony
to go beyond deceptive alchemy
and learn the secret of the molecule
that pulses at the core of our brain jewel.
At sunset near bright river of lost souls
we sing about the spiral of black holes
that weave vast hologram of life on Earth
so we make love to generate rebirth.
By fountain of the flying horse I wake
to comprehend the One-Faced God is fake
because we are the fragments of one soul
who shimmers in the web of our White Whole.
© Surazeus
2018 12 20
Quaint algorithm of the falling door
reveals conceptual riddles we adore
to build cathedrals on their broken bones
when skulls of prophets mirror crystal stones.
Down ancient roads we stumble toward our goal
escaping arrogance of thought control
before the latest tyrant steals our eyes
and charges us tax for light from free skies.
This rain that flashes secret memories
reveals how we win back lost liberties
to exercise bold freedom speaking truth
detected by perception of the sleuth.
Strange jagged landscape of my waking dream
presents aggressive progress of the stream
that shapes the contours of our aching faith
at second coming of the chanting wraith.
Along smooth curving road we glide on wind
to trace new navigation of the mind
since I was born at fountain of the horse
who teaches me to play the honor course.
Wherever on this Earth I soon may roam
I hope to understand the trick of home
where lovers lounge by frame of glowing hearth
to share lost stories of the turning Earth.
I climb high mountain to your waterfall
and build from dragon bones the feasting hall
where lost souls gather by the singing stage
to see our angel locked in golden cage.
Deep in these riddles calculating truth
you might discover secret of the sleuth
whose second coming was so long foretold
we never thought true justice would be sold.
I am not prophet of your zombie god
whose lie of resurrection is the fraud
which blinds the eyes of people to the facts
that heaven is no more that forest tracks.
So follow pleasure of your agony
to go beyond deceptive alchemy
and learn the secret of the molecule
that pulses at the core of our brain jewel.
At sunset near bright river of lost souls
we sing about the spiral of black holes
that weave vast hologram of life on Earth
so we make love to generate rebirth.
By fountain of the flying horse I wake
to comprehend the One-Faced God is fake
because we are the fragments of one soul
who shimmers in the web of our White Whole.
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