Quakes Of Hopeless Faith

Quakes Of Hopeless Faith
© Surazeus
2024 03 12

These memories I recollect with the rain 
that types my sorrows on the listening lawn 
include the way my playful children laugh 
with heart-aching cheer of those who still hope, 
while faceless monsters of the hungry world 
haunt sun-beamed shadows as weird nameless things. 

I hide no memories of wings in my spine 
with tense attention to the way Death waits, 
but I breathe courage of the wordless rain 
to fasten my soul with hope to the world 
because I keep falling back to the sky 
in shocked reversal of grave discontent. 

The book still on the table of my heart 
attempts to escape my labyrinth of dreams 
to find warm glowing hearth in gloomy woods 
where cherubim disguised as stormy clouds 
hover vast over meadow of blind faith 
with bleak compassion of afternoon rain. 

The bomb explains my father is the light 
that cracks blank mirror of the restless sea 
so I decide that I will never drown 
except to send my spirit to the moon 
when grim age cripples my eager intent 
though I memorize names of birds and flowers. 

White petals from tattered dresses of girls 
pave bomb-buckled streets with grand victory 
as secrets children hide in star-burned books 
where photos of families killed in the war 
shrivel to oak leaves on indifferent hills 
though tanks crush golden walls of paradise. 

The nun on fire with passion of the sun 
runs silently toward mirror of the mind 
across low treeless hills of gleaming snow 
to catch blind angel falling from the sky, 
whose cry cracks Earth with quake of hopeless faith, 
then sits alone with nothing in her hands. 

Ten thousand people from factories and farms 
gather around tomb of the Unknown Goddess 
to sing reverent hymns for Pallas Athena 
whose shield displays virtual world of our dreams 
while angels fly silver planes over clouds 
to bomb the crystal palace where Zeus hides. 

After building Temple for wise Apollo, 
Triphonius wanders maze of Gotham City 
as ghost in memories of my predawn dreams 
who gives me the golden Cup of the Sun 
when I return home from the brutal war 
to wonder why our noble flag still burns.