Beauty Of This Messy World

Beauty Of This Messy World
© Surazeus
2023 10 05

Just crooked enough to be less than weird 
face of the wingless angel in dark wood 
hosts small hive of bees living in his beard 
because he dwells where the happy Sphinx stood 
before she vanished in beam of moonlight 
after asking him riddle for his plight. 

Carving runes in verses on temple wall, 
where Zeus once ruled the world with lightning bolt, 
the wingless angel sings about the fall 
to store information about revolt 
of man against blind tyrant in the sky 
who appears on Earth as the curious spy. 

Each atom that beams from first flash of time 
forth in golden spiral transcends the void, 
then rings in paradise through perfect chime 
expanding from core of cosmic spheroid 
to weave network of neurons in my brain 
so I become conscious in drenching rain. 

Amazed at beauty of this messy world 
that blooms with ever-seething tides of change, 
the wingless angel, born as cosmic herald, 
describes through mental formulas full range 
of transformations bodies undergo 
when we all dance at the last picture show. 

Our bodies bloom in chemical machines 
that learn this crazy world to navigate, 
designed by immortal soul of our genes 
who lives reborn in children we create 
as we accumulate knowledge of truth 
each generation to messiah sleuth. 

Strange feelings teeming in my cluttered mind 
motivate my actions to evade death, 
programmed by memories ancestors designed 
as I remember every thoughtful breath 
that guides my journey to the Promised Land 
where I build Heaven with my hungry hand. 

"Why are we alive in this universe?" 
I ask blank sky where no all-knowing god 
creates me with purpose which I reverse 
in fierce rebellion against divine fraud 
greedy men use to control me with lies 
because consciousness ends when each brain dies. 

So lounge with me on temple porch and sing 
hymns that celebrate strangeness of our lives, 
then feast on bounty each person can bring 
while I record your life tales in archives 
that stand ten thousand years after we die 
to preserve memories we dream with our eye.