Magic Spells Of Poetry

Magic Spells Of Poetry
© Surazeus
2023 11 03

Your ghosts, that haunt me in dim evening gloom 
as moonlight gleaming in gossamer webs 
which bind my ancient heart in Spider Wood, 
possess large spiders that float between oaks 
and gaze at me with billion stellar eyes, 
immortal universe in heart of Earth. 

Though bodies my ancestors once possessed 
with urgent spirit of ambitious quest 
lie buried deep in moldering mounds of faith 
along the endless road they blazed from death 
their souls still animate my dreaming brain 
with passion to explore mind mirror of rain. 

If I could trace their journey back to lake 
where they first woke from dream of eyeless stars 
I might remember how my soul arrived 
at this strange hour in swirling of the Earth 
because, when I sit on the rain-smooth stone, 
I feel sad watching Time River flow past. 

Walking away from garden home they knew 
since they first learned to sing with flighty birds, 
they walked across the waste land of despair 
to find new valley blooming apple trees 
where they fell in love with the soul they met 
dancing in grove of trees at cool twilight. 

Holding hands in shadow of Spider Wood, 
young lovers pledge eternal troth of love, 
then kiss to generate from ache of hope 
new lithe bodies for children to translate 
immortal soul of genes beyond their death 
in ever-flowing stream of new-born souls. 

Since we were formed in hydrothermal vents 
and crawled on diamonds in fresh-water streams 
to rise from lake of dreams at dawn of time 
and climb enormous tangled web of trees, 
I have transformed from fish to wingless angel 
who stands by the sea to sing ache of love. 

Ten million people sea to shining sea, 
alone in secret homes by signless roads, 
sing together in global choir of angels 
harmonious hymn of melancholy hope 
that visions of our minds we code in spells 
will preserve our souls long after we die. 

But all these vibrant visions in our brains, 
that flash with memories of our timeless hours 
when lovers share pleasure with ache of love, 
will dissipate to nothing when we die, 
even magic spells of poetry we write 
soon vanish with indifferent flash of rain.