To Prove I Belong

To Prove I Belong
© Surazeus
2022 12 24

The weird stars obscured by mountain of truth 
pierce my soft heart with unalterable rays 
of hope that reveal the alternate course 
I choose to take through the pummeling wind 
when I grasp strange happiness with frail hands 
to prove I belong to this nameless tribe. 

The luminous squalor of my lost tale 
conceals the tangled sorrow of my heart 
I pretend I never feel when I face 
hostile crowd of vampires in the cold church 
after dancing along the stream at dawn 
to prove I belong to this hapless tribe. 

The blazing colors of the rainbow bridge 
that leads me to the world buried by snow 
reveal the unasked aftermath of faith 
betrayed by rancid greed of the door clown 
who denies me a seat at table of hope 
to prove I belong to this faceless tribe. 

The shining sorrow of the tall pine tree 
screams at every hack of the hate-sharp ax 
when the grim priest chops down my spirit tree 
then hangs heads of my clan on weeping limbs 
while he celebrates birth of his cruel god 
to prove I belong to this homeless tribe. 

The stars exposed by gallop of the horse 
that races swift across the wilderness 
reveal the signless road to mountain castle 
where the tyrant wearing gold crown of gems 
enslaves my mother to bake in the kitchen 
to prove I belong to this listless tribe. 

The glowing hearth of friendship arrogates 
ownership of land to the sons of God 
who kill rebels against their claim to power 
when they colonize vales of my ancestors 
whose bones form structure of the holy church 
to prove I belong to this faithless tribe. 

The indifferent sun drenching hills in blood 
shines bright on face of the man on the horse 
whose hands clutch golden coins of stolen wealth 
he earned from sweat of our unwilling hands 
constructing empire of his right to rule 
to prove I belong to this ruthless clan. 

The flashing light bulbs on the Christmas tree 
that blink with carols on the radio 
hide centuries of oppression behind tunes 
of cheerful joy at birth of the world king 
whose sons kill people who will not convert 
to prove I belong to this headless tribe. 

The gleam of headlights on cars in the snow 
casts frail beams of faith at horror of death 
when people gather in the church of bones 
and pray to the vampire god for salvation 
in their war to conquer the world with love 
to prove I belong to this restless tribe. 

The dreaming flames of atoms in the void 
that flare forth from first flash of the white whole 
congeal into this mortal coil of flesh 
which generates conscious mind of my brain 
so I feel immortal till hour I die 
to prove I belong to this godless tribe.