Spinning Wheel Of My Heart

Spinning Wheel Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2023 04 05

Weaving wisdom from proverbs of sad crones 
with dream-clacking spinning wheel of my heart, 
I redefine strange formula for truth 
by which we calculate the hour of death, 
because the door wind cannot open now 
reveals silver ghosts floating on Star Lake. 

Touching splintered window of grimy glass 
with time-flashing spinning wheel of my heart, 
I stare at roadless hills in purple gloom 
by which he journeyed to the Promised Land, 
because the empty boat on word-black lake 
wants to return home from the Otherworld. 

Still half awake in dark forever night 
with happiness dripping from wrinkled hands, 
I explain to moon raven in the oak 
why my dead mother never understands 
eager hope for wordless beauty of truth 
that drives me to stand blind in the open door. 

Not yet aware of wind dancing in grass 
with shocking anguish of the rain-smooth stone, 
I clutch the last moon-white potato tight 
like holding mane of the galloping horse, 
so hungry I forget clouds know my name 
though I keep searching for the naked sea. 

Watching for the sailing ship made of masks 
with honest laughter of the rain-smooth stone, 
I feel words of the ancient holy book 
writhe quick as spiders clambering over skulls 
through cheerful shadow of the hyacinth 
that blooms from rotten corpse of my true love. 

Adjusting hands of the euphoric clock 
with arrogance dripping from wrinkled hands, 
I measure distance to the Promised Land 
it takes to sail the wide Sargasso Sea, 
grateful for the chance to love the sad fool 
who always gave me apples in the rain. 

Eager to embrace my lover again 
with brain-breeding spinning wheel of my heart, 
I wait ten thousand years in doorless house 
frail as the lost ark on tempest-tossed waves, 
but he never returns with treasure chest 
from his unmarked grave in the Promised Land. 

Depicting souls of children never born 
with rain-beaming spinning wheel of my heart, 
I tend lush garth in mist-veiled Avalon 
that swallows my bones in rain-hungry soil, 
yet dream world revolutionary war 
that burns my sorrows in butterfly smoke.