Explosions Of Epiphanies

Explosions Of Epiphanies
© Surazeus
2024 12 17

Back and forth the little sparrow rotates 
twelve times between broken clock in the tree 
and orange dripping blood in the church tower 
so I can calculate how long it takes 
to change my boredom into jollity 
without regard to homeless of the world. 

If we all gather on the river shore 
at the same time the tower of gold falls, 
we might agree to put an end to war 
and strew all our weapons upon the ground, 
but someone will find a reason to fight, 
so we will have to convene somewhere else. 

Once we invade the glass convention hall 
to hold discussions about the dream code 
with moderators keeping the talks civil, 
we can all pretend we understand well 
how words arranged in various formulas 
project accurate visions of the world. 

I refuse to let you publish this spell 
in your prestigious literary journal 
because its symbols might collide with lies 
people prefer to believe about fate, 
and cause explosions of epiphanies 
that would shatter fragile egos of poets. 

Instead we shall stroll to the Irish pub 
to eat hamburgers and drink golden beer 
then talk about the dying of the light 
and how we shall not go gentle into it, 
as if our blind faith in the afterlife 
ensures our place in halls of paradise. 

When I go looking for the afterlife 
I see this fantasy of desperate fools 
is nothing more than illusion of hope, 
and find instead the dreamless nevermore 
where we sink into dark gloom of the sea 
where our genes were woven by Mother Earth. 

Nowhere else in all the universe, 
nor in all the flow of eternity, 
has anyone else who is just like me, 
with all my special features I design 
based on my private experiences, 
existed with my weird consciousness. 

I ponder what the sparrow wants to say 
as I play chess with Death on the sea shore, 
then follow the river among lush hills 
to cavern of illusions where my soul 
was forged from gusts of wind that open doors 
when I welcome you to my floating home.