Dream Of The Wind Chime

Dream Of The Wind Chime
© Surazeus
2019 03 16

The birds know why we can never go home 
so we sit by the river and count cracked stones, 
then after dark we continue to roam 
where blind clowns make music with hollow bones, 
for they paint their faces white with dry mud 
and drink wine made of mushrooms, grapes, and blood. 

We hide our faces in shadows of fear 
and weave rays of moonlight in blinking eyes 
to stare three thousand years in flashing mere 
that mirrors arcane truth from empty skies 
so we confront our shadows in the night, 
hoping to discover name of our light. 

We flow through whisper of each singing tree 
to slip past monsters who can never talk 
that leads us down to comfort of wild sea 
where I transform into the joking hawk 
to hide my sorrow in shadowless cave 
while I sing algorithm of each wave. 

I stand stiff in halo of screaming light 
to ask happy birds where my home may hide 
but they become the glow cloud of far sight 
so lost pilgrims hire me as their trip guide, 
though every castle half-seen through dawn haze 
haunts us with horror of its endless maze. 

Behind locked doors the blind forget my name 
so I look for the people I once knew 
but they wear masks and play the court power game 
while I continue searching for the clue 
that might reveal how our world was first made 
and why fearful men fight the vain crusade. 

Down by the river I sit in tree shade 
to ask the birds where I can find my home 
but I become stone statue in the glade 
for I am nothing more than frail wave foam 
blow by indifferent wind of swirling time, 
startled awake by dream of the wind chime.