Empty Library At Dawn

Empty Library At Dawn
© Surazeus
2023 06 02

The smiling fish who walks in the glass room 
considers why we are not who we think, 
except when the chess queen, wearing her crown, 
goes to the empty library at dawn 
to play piano of the tragic soul 
because she understands why we will die. 

Through otherness of our infinite being 
we get up every morning with despair 
and go to work rebuilding our lost dreams 
which wait in locked cabinet by the sea 
because no train can take us all back home 
except the woman just outside the door. 

With each peculiar slant of memory 
we draw our bodies on frail paper walls 
to erase heart-breaking sorrow of time 
that always records every word we say 
even if we eat apples in moonlight 
while evading horror of nothingness. 

Without the business of darkness to test 
strength of character in chaotic times 
we might extract our sorrows from sad gloom 
to paint clear vision of grand narrative 
which defines how we conduct politics 
based on myth of the tyrant and the savior. 

Therefore I organize facts of the world 
within eclectic scope of the round mirror 
which distorts reality with glass eyes 
through convex mirror of our divine mind 
with random elements of naked truth 
we find discarded on the ocean beach. 

Still no one waits inside the empty room 
for someone else to dispel loneliness 
with unexpressed words stuck in broken jars 
too late for us to gather by the tree 
which blossoms though we trample its frail roots 
to connect my brain to the world wide web. 

Awake in vast Palladian sculpture maze, 
I evolve from likeness of the First Man 
through rapid syntax of the telescope 
which still reveals our planet in the void 
illuminated gold by sublime hope 
as we deliberate how to respond. 

Grasping naked current of starry waves, 
I play stringed instrument from turtle shell 
to hypnotize my worshippers with faith, 
then write with tattered quill from angel wing 
weird story that relates how we attempt 
to generate new bodies till we die.