Insensibility Of Nothingness
© Surazeus
2018 04 10
The shimmering blue glow of the twilight sky
wakes every ancestral soul in my brain
so I ache with longing for that strange time
when joy blazed gold after long suffering.
Dressed in white lace gown, she stands by the dresser
and reads the book of tales by candlelight,
whose pure white flame illuminates her soul
that angels weave from starlight on the flowers.
Sitting in the armchair by the cold hearth,
I watch my wife and daughters dream asleep,
and sorrow that they might feel pain or fear
bleeds my love as sunset fire in the sky.
I stand by the back door, watching stars gleam,
and wait for our cat with luminous eyes,
green as swamp lizards, to return from woods
bearing the ancient wind in her long fur.
The whispering pages of the book of tales
flap in the wind that rises from our sorrow
so I pick it up and the words are bugs
that crawl into my eyes as butterflies.
Under the dark yews the owls perched in rows
slant the evening sun to pierce through my heart
so I gaze enraptured by passing shadow
and wish to be the owl who knows the moon.
Her heart of snow, white as feathers of swans,
reveals proud mystery of my weird birth
how I emerged from statue of Apollo
like the serpent emerges from its egg.
My soul spreads wide its austere raven wings
and flies through swirling mist of voiceless song
though no pale shadow of my aching heart
reveals path of my journey to the stones.
Expressing words I invent from the wind,
I walk among trees, pillars of my temple,
where scent of flowers connects my lost mind
to eyes of children who were never born.
Who plays the oboe over the lush meadow
that flutters melodies past starry spheres
beyond sorrows that obscure my true vision
so I sing lark language of flowers and bees?
I will try to measure the boundless void
because water in the abyss of horror
fuels action, desire, dream, and social speech
till I float in the great whole of lost souls.
The insensibility of nothingness
sees infinite truth through window of why
while sewing wings for me to wear on stage
so I rise from gloom since I come from stars.
© Surazeus
2018 04 10
The shimmering blue glow of the twilight sky
wakes every ancestral soul in my brain
so I ache with longing for that strange time
when joy blazed gold after long suffering.
Dressed in white lace gown, she stands by the dresser
and reads the book of tales by candlelight,
whose pure white flame illuminates her soul
that angels weave from starlight on the flowers.
Sitting in the armchair by the cold hearth,
I watch my wife and daughters dream asleep,
and sorrow that they might feel pain or fear
bleeds my love as sunset fire in the sky.
I stand by the back door, watching stars gleam,
and wait for our cat with luminous eyes,
green as swamp lizards, to return from woods
bearing the ancient wind in her long fur.
The whispering pages of the book of tales
flap in the wind that rises from our sorrow
so I pick it up and the words are bugs
that crawl into my eyes as butterflies.
Under the dark yews the owls perched in rows
slant the evening sun to pierce through my heart
so I gaze enraptured by passing shadow
and wish to be the owl who knows the moon.
Her heart of snow, white as feathers of swans,
reveals proud mystery of my weird birth
how I emerged from statue of Apollo
like the serpent emerges from its egg.
My soul spreads wide its austere raven wings
and flies through swirling mist of voiceless song
though no pale shadow of my aching heart
reveals path of my journey to the stones.
Expressing words I invent from the wind,
I walk among trees, pillars of my temple,
where scent of flowers connects my lost mind
to eyes of children who were never born.
Who plays the oboe over the lush meadow
that flutters melodies past starry spheres
beyond sorrows that obscure my true vision
so I sing lark language of flowers and bees?
I will try to measure the boundless void
because water in the abyss of horror
fuels action, desire, dream, and social speech
till I float in the great whole of lost souls.
The insensibility of nothingness
sees infinite truth through window of why
while sewing wings for me to wear on stage
so I rise from gloom since I come from stars.
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