Dreams Become Second Sight

Dreams Become Second Sight
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

Though my dreams never become second sight, 
I extract blind premise from nameless core 
which shadows my face with elegant code 
defining light that streams from statue eyes 
yet washes sulking sorrow from my heart, 
so I almost miss meeting with old spies. 

With tedious courage of the undrowned dead, 
who teach their children how to start the fire, 
I fear what hovers over me with wings 
because the color photograph I took 
that depicts the lake in the mountain woods 
appears on postcards all around the world. 

Teased by the star-eyed owl on broken wall, 
I dig my pulsing heart from gritty beach sand 
to clean my soot-rimmed eyes with arrogance 
that I know where this path of passion leads, 
yet I keep walking toward the broken ark 
to prove salvation can never be bought. 

Because I stop by the birch in the lane 
to measure heights of clouds above false roads, 
time jolts untuned assertion of respect 
for fetters of concern I pledge to show 
when chorus of mad frogs express grand awe 
for swirls of snow that reveal face of God. 

Since clocks of molecules in oranges hum 
with psychic tune of brash divinity 
that vibrates through all living things on Earth, 
I place my hand flat on surface of ice 
to understand true nature of the pond 
which deigns to reflect my true secret face. 

Surprised when my dreams become second sight 
at vision of Belinda in gray mist, 
I count stones lined along the river bank 
that hide our voices from authorities 
so we can see shapes of our secret selves 
preserved in statues on cathedral walls. 

I seek protection from Aegidius 
who prances on the mountain slope of fate 
with graceful goatness of naivete 
in search to find birth-cave of humble Zeus 
who teaches me to write the alphabet 
with quill of angel wings dipped in god blood. 

So once I climb this grandiose mountain peak 
I shall meet all my friends in gray Paris 
to write the greatest novel ever bled 
from broken hearts of cruel antagonists 
who seem to know the way to Samarkand 
where my heart functions as the clock of fate.