Bitter Sword Of Fame

Bitter Sword Of Fame
© Surazeus
2024 05 18

I cannot tell you who the real me is 
for I encode my life experience 
behind the psychotropic mask of god 
so thickly you cannot see past my words 
that shield my heart from bitter sword of Fame 
who feeds with vampire lust on souls of fools. 

Each spell I chant as sweet melodious song 
in spotlight of attentive hope for faith 
conceals true nature of my private soul 
with glowing shield of psychic energy 
that protects me from the desperate hope 
of people lost in bleak waste land of fear. 

Bold heroes eulogized in ancient tales, 
who lead their tribe of refugees from war 
into the lawless wilderness of faith, 
organized fearful souls lost in despair 
in strong community of loyal warriors 
focused on survival of the whole group. 

To mythologize my personal life 
I flay social definitions of self 
that strips my spirit bare of special facts 
till I am empty of specific features 
so all that remains of my inner core 
is universal archetype of me. 

Tearing away my unique state of being, 
so the somebody that I used to be 
is scattered on the ground in puzzle shards, 
I become the nobody I will be, 
assembled from everybody who lives, 
invisible to the cruel eyes of Fame. 

Contained in singular frame of my flesh, 
impersonal symbol of Everyman, 
I move as point on line of boundless plane 
in tight retention of expressive time, 
trapped by experience of defined events 
in calculating progress of blind fate. 

As faceless speaker with name I invent 
I describe this weird landscape where I am, 
then I remember tragic incident 
that sparks insight to nature of this world, 
so I devise clever riddle of thought 
that alters how I perceive why I feel. 

As universal symbol of mankind, 
combining billions of souls in one mind, 
I reach out my hand to offer you fruit 
which I stole from serpent in Tree of Life, 
then we share stories of how we survive 
so our children live well after we die.