Though He Builds Iron Wall

Though He Builds Iron Wall
© Surazeus
2019 01 13

Somewhere in endless stretch of parking lots,
in strip malls of shopping stores and restaurants
along tangled network of highways and roads,
the blind prophet sits silent and serene
under sprawling tree with ten thousand limbs
grafted from every fruit tree in the world.

Alone outside theaters and book stores,
beyond the walls of libraries and bars,
the blind prophet strums the broken guitar
and sings to shadows in vast parking lots
where only ravens gather to pick bones,
then scribbles riddles in books between lines.

The Hungry Man in slick gray business suit
lurches from shadow of large shopping store
and grabs his frail head to devour his brains,
but the blind prophet ducks and somersaults,
then crouches to fight back with martial arts,
punching and kicking in blur of swift strikes.

Running through glass doors of the late-night bar,
the blind prophet stumbles through dancing crowd
to escape piggish hunger of the banker,
then leaps on stage to grab the microphone
and sings wild soaring spells of flashing words
that conjure visions in enchanted eyes.

Howling prophecies about flames of light
smashing gold idols of capitalist greed,
the blind prophet chants riddles that enforce
dancing people to grab the vampire banker
then tear him apart and devour his brains
and drink his blood black as oil from the Earth.

Rapacious zombies of the world empire,
fueled by cocaine and electric kool-aid,
devour the vampire bankers in gray suits,
then turn voracious eyes upon the singer,
and reach out the claws of their hungry hands
with covetous desire to worship fame.

Ten thousand zombies of the twanging lyre
follow the blind prophet across the waste land,
racing across the desert of patriotism,
to dance around the Statue of Liberty
and cry for green blood of the Zombie King
who crouches terrified inside the White House.

Though he builds iron wall around the White House,
the Zombie King hides under the oak desk
when zombies pour over the giant wall
and invade the Oval Office at midnight,
then crucify him on the telephone pole
that towers high on the pyramid of gold.

Leaving the zombies to their greedy feast,
the blind prophet walks across the waste land
west to the parking lot of the shopping mall
where he sits again silent and serene
under sprawling tree with ten thousand limbs
grafted from every fruit tree in the world.

Recording chronicles in Book of Time,
the blind prophet, alone in midnight wind,
meditates on the rise and fall of empires,
founded by honest men with noble visions
about justice and equality for all,
but destroyed by the man greedy for power.