Mask Of Who I Am Now

Mask Of Who I Am Now
© Surazeus
2019 03 07

The house of the moon where I keep my soul 
shines invisible to the eye of greed 
for its walls are fragile pages of light 
where I write down all the dreams I forgot 
in words that slip through my fingers like rain 
before I can taste memories of your love. 

It seems I am always walking through doors 
to find the mystery of your secret name 
you never tell me except through your song 
that shimmers on the naked air of hope 
so when I think I understand real you 
you shapeshift into sweet stranger I love. 

I think about the way the river flows 
through sparkles of sunlight in silent wind 
to lead me wandering among heat-dry hills 
whose timeless ecstasy of lurid stillness 
reveals cute mask you wear to lure me home 
so I stay here alone on the lake shore. 

Although if you crack open my frail bones 
you can read the history of my desire 
to replicate new body from my soul 
so I can spring beyond my broken self 
on coiled genetic wings of strict ambition 
and fly among the clouds that rain on you. 

The house of the moon we together build 
from story pages we tear from old books 
protects our passion-scarred hearts from lost faith 
long shrouding our minds in veil of despair 
since rain flushes aching tears of mute sorrow 
in thirsty soil that drinks our loyal love. 

If you wake to see me walking through doors 
of abandoned churches to measure walls 
of ruined faith that crumble with turned time 
you can invent new name for me to wear 
that hour we roll together in wet grass 
and kiss in passionate pleasure of lust. 

When you explain the way the river flows 
in streams of thought-sparkling words from our hearts 
to flash weird visions of what is not real 
too real before our illusion-smeared eyes 
we hold hands and laugh to become light beams 
of joy weaving waves of pleasure in dance. 

As blind angels crack open my frail bones 
each photograph of one dead person flies 
on butterfly wings to weave threads of words 
in time-shifting tapestry of lost tales 
so each ancestor who designed my soul 
wears my face as mask of who I am now. 

The house of the moon where I dream reborn 
from spiral tendrils of alphabet vines 
reveals on mirror walls every strange face 
my ancestors wore on journey to find 
fountain of youth where they met their soul mate 
who weave new body for me to wear now. 

Because we never cease walking through doors 
to explore beyond pale of our safe haven 
we write encyclopedia to preserve 
world encircled by feet of curious children 
when I drape my shoulders in wolf-skin cape 
then hold wand and gem as I view the Earth. 

Now I will map the way the river flows 
to calculate strict process of erosion 
when eager wind sculpts mountains from soul dust 
exposing skulls of dragons who once roamed 
landscape of this wild globe when we first crawled 
hungry along rivers to find fresh fruit. 

So my lover cracks open my frail bones 
to dip its sharpened point in my heart blood 
and write these formulas of spelling verse 
on tablets of stone in new prophecy 
that describes how the messiah sleuth dreams 
way to redesign our society.