Dream-Chanting Muse Of Saskatoon
© Surazeus
2019 01 04
The morning rain tries always to explain
how fast the wind goes nowhere through my brain,
so we walk past each other every day,
letting strange stars illuminate our way.
Though I have never been to the white moon
to dance on angel wings with reckless care,
I fly back home to your riparian tune
that flows so endlessly through my vast heart.
I know every angel who lives alone
on moons of Jupiter by silver pools
for they can see me everywhere on Earth
though I live far away through second birth.
We gather in basements of broken dreams
to meditate on laughter of wild streams
and seek the power of flight inside our hearts,
designing new ways to live on old charts.
When the dream-chanting Muse of Saskatoon
finds me walking on the side of the road,
she teaches me how to fly past the moon
with angel wings bought from the Book of Dreams.
She leads me to the Garden of Lost Souls
where they dance free inside the barbed-wire fence
so I reveal their paradise is Hell
though she rolls dice to win another chance.
Cold sparkling rain on grass beneath my feet
flows down from highland hills to misty moors
where I become the werewolf you will meet
when we escape despair through castle doors.
We sail across the wild Atlantic Sea
but lose each other in the wilderness
till centuries later we sing to be free
and build strange fantasies of happiness.
When daughter of Ixchel flees Mexico
to search for paradise in Texas hills
I return from Jupiter as the crow
who leads her dancing to the sparkling rills.
Like she fled warring gangs to find new life
my great-grandmother fled religious strife,
so refugees come to America
welcomed by loving arms of Onatah.
When the dream-chanting Muse of Saskatoon
sings ancient melodies of soul salvation
soaring death planes by strange light of the moon
turn into butterflies above our nation.
The morning rain that flows from purple clouds
revealing fractal rays of perfect light
inspires wild frenzy of our mantic shrouds
so I chant prophecies of vivid right.
© Surazeus
2019 01 04
The morning rain tries always to explain
how fast the wind goes nowhere through my brain,
so we walk past each other every day,
letting strange stars illuminate our way.
Though I have never been to the white moon
to dance on angel wings with reckless care,
I fly back home to your riparian tune
that flows so endlessly through my vast heart.
I know every angel who lives alone
on moons of Jupiter by silver pools
for they can see me everywhere on Earth
though I live far away through second birth.
We gather in basements of broken dreams
to meditate on laughter of wild streams
and seek the power of flight inside our hearts,
designing new ways to live on old charts.
When the dream-chanting Muse of Saskatoon
finds me walking on the side of the road,
she teaches me how to fly past the moon
with angel wings bought from the Book of Dreams.
She leads me to the Garden of Lost Souls
where they dance free inside the barbed-wire fence
so I reveal their paradise is Hell
though she rolls dice to win another chance.
Cold sparkling rain on grass beneath my feet
flows down from highland hills to misty moors
where I become the werewolf you will meet
when we escape despair through castle doors.
We sail across the wild Atlantic Sea
but lose each other in the wilderness
till centuries later we sing to be free
and build strange fantasies of happiness.
When daughter of Ixchel flees Mexico
to search for paradise in Texas hills
I return from Jupiter as the crow
who leads her dancing to the sparkling rills.
Like she fled warring gangs to find new life
my great-grandmother fled religious strife,
so refugees come to America
welcomed by loving arms of Onatah.
When the dream-chanting Muse of Saskatoon
sings ancient melodies of soul salvation
soaring death planes by strange light of the moon
turn into butterflies above our nation.
The morning rain that flows from purple clouds
revealing fractal rays of perfect light
inspires wild frenzy of our mantic shrouds
so I chant prophecies of vivid right.
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