Photos Of The Undead

Photos Of The Undead
© Surazeus
2023 01 15

They think my death has meaning for the clown 
who never answers the sad telephone 
except to open the arrogant door 
and sell salvation from psychotic fear 
because children understand the unsaid 
contrived to mislead the social undead. 

So I stop on the bridge of broken thoughts 
to measure absolute wisdom of gates 
designed to protect the helpless from harm 
because I love strange beauty of the storm 
described in the ancient book still unread 
by children who play chase with the undead. 

Our feelings fall as rain from empty sky 
to classify concept of the true way 
people choose to dignify with fierce words 
translated to riddles by the moon bards 
who sing gossip for the right to be fed 
after they play on stage with the undead. 

Softer than anguish of the battle cry 
that bleeds from eyes of the terrified boy 
honesty steals diamonds from the dream cave 
to prove efficiency of mutual love 
when we decide to make peace and break bread 
in dissonant tandem with the undead. 

Though darkness lingers on the lonely stairs 
known only to people who must drive cars 
we give each other light from our brain cells 
because cities expand beyond time walls 
so we return to the empty homestead 
to discover photos of the undead. 

We make our own light deep inside our hearts 
to resemble wilderness kremlin forts 
where someone always crowns himself the king 
because he cannot tell the right from wrong 
but we defy commands of the godhead 
seen only by star eyes of the undead. 

I sail to Avalon in the frail boat 
to escape the cruel death sentence of fate 
but find myself stuck in the castle tower 
so I dress up like the pious churchgoer 
who cannot comprehend the color red 
strong as democracy of the undead. 

When naked virgins in secluded pool 
stage revolution of their social role 
I present my death to the lonely queen 
who reveals my father is the moon clown 
whose sacred book about the spirit thread 
teaches me song to enchant the undead.