Horror Of Beautiful Love

Horror Of Beautiful Love
© Surazeus
2019 03 14

Most days when I wake before dawn I feel 
like Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now, 
head stuffed with straw and bones fragile as glass 
as I hunch bleary-eyed in silent ruins 
of lofty cathedral where nought but wind 
whispers words of horror from mute abyss 
secrets of prophets and philosophers 
who search for God and find only themselves. 

I walk along old trail of broken hearts 
where skull of every person who has lived, 
since we first crawled up rivers from weird sea, 
watches me explore labyrinth of lost myths 
to create new character I will play 
on public stage of power littered with bones 
of kings who seek for immortality 
but vanish as their children play new roles. 

Whoever manages to steal from death 
Mask of God to play high authority, 
enforcing moral laws of right and wrong, 
loses their sense of self in role they play 
through vain bid to gain glory of great fame, 
so they vanish from history without name 
that defines private personality 
when they search for themselves and find fake God. 

I sail up river into Heart of Darkness 
on sacred quest to find the Holy Grail, 
and then assassinate my alter ego 
who crowns himself emperor of the Earth, 
but contemplate mystery of consciousness 
while I gaze at my face in flowing water 
as Narcissus tries to find his love Echo 
where she dances singing in gold starlight. 

This fractured body of my buzzing soul, 
once assembled by Doctor Frankenstein, 
I navigate through labyrinth of locked doors 
past pedestals where minotaurs stand guard 
with double-headed labyr axe of justice 
to climb ziggurat of star-singing goddess 
who brews mushroom wine that will blow my mind 
when I reincarnate from her vast womb. 

I climb thirteen steps of high pyramid 
and find giant diamond-eyed telescope 
where I gaze down in crowded maze of hope, 
watching people who make things with their hands 
they sell in markeplace of new ideas 
to earn fortune in the American Dream 
while I manipulate their puppet souls 
with promise of eternal life in Heaven. 

I rule this fertile globe of rock and water 
that spirals randomly through empty void 
by measuring landscape of its clashing force, 
then mapping contours of our psychic dreams 
to comprehend secret of flowing streams 
and compile encyclopedia of knowledge 
I gathered by encircling with my feet 
crystal structure forming eyeball of Earth. 

Rubbing my head with crafty hands of wit, 
I contemplate emptiness of frail forms 
because all objects of material shape 
are teeming clumps of energetic atoms 
that transform through states of chemical force, 
consuming each other in constant war 
to direct life through self-control of law, 
awed by the horror of beautiful love.