God Of Myself
© Surazeus
2019 02 04
The book of stories on the forest floor
laughs with the playful wind that flips torn pages
smeared with blood of people killed long ago
whose spirits haunt my dreams with pulsing eyes.
I write their names with grass blades on sidewalks
that wind through cement canyons of great cities,
detailing how they struggled to survive
till wind blows their spirits into mute night.
The tales of individuals merge details
of active deeds in one generic trope
so personalities transform to gods
whose names tag millions of souls in one mask.
Unless I express my personal traits
of peculiar aspects through noble deeds
beyond usual methods of social rites,
I will disappear in God of Myself.
How many millions of years of lost time
did my ancestors look up at blank sky
and believe the Glow Cloud was divine God
watching us with authority of truth?
That shimmer of their belief still glows bright
in my brain when I look up at blank sky
and sense conscious presence watching me live,
till I realize it mirrors my own mind.
I see God of Myself in the Glow Cloud,
projecting my Ego to cosmic height
so I can see myself as little doll
groping blindly through the maze of desires.
I find book with blank pages on the ground
so I dip angel-feather quill in blood
of my heart and write epic tale of heroes
to record how we dream from the White Whole.
© Surazeus
2019 02 04
The book of stories on the forest floor
laughs with the playful wind that flips torn pages
smeared with blood of people killed long ago
whose spirits haunt my dreams with pulsing eyes.
I write their names with grass blades on sidewalks
that wind through cement canyons of great cities,
detailing how they struggled to survive
till wind blows their spirits into mute night.
The tales of individuals merge details
of active deeds in one generic trope
so personalities transform to gods
whose names tag millions of souls in one mask.
Unless I express my personal traits
of peculiar aspects through noble deeds
beyond usual methods of social rites,
I will disappear in God of Myself.
How many millions of years of lost time
did my ancestors look up at blank sky
and believe the Glow Cloud was divine God
watching us with authority of truth?
That shimmer of their belief still glows bright
in my brain when I look up at blank sky
and sense conscious presence watching me live,
till I realize it mirrors my own mind.
I see God of Myself in the Glow Cloud,
projecting my Ego to cosmic height
so I can see myself as little doll
groping blindly through the maze of desires.
I find book with blank pages on the ground
so I dip angel-feather quill in blood
of my heart and write epic tale of heroes
to record how we dream from the White Whole.
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