Room Of Talking Books

Room Of Talking Books
© Surazeus
2024 08 02

The lonely soul, that makes the saddest sound, 
weeps on the knoll where indifferent stars bloom 
from skeletons which formulate the ground 
of social values made to counter doom. 
Bound by wings of Icarus, I escape 
room of talking books that give my thoughts shape. 

The hungry mind, that eats the ancient tale, 
in apple rind designed by sun-lit rain, 
wakes as the prophet swallowed by the whale, 
haunted by demons who deny his pain. 
Scale of world disaster, gods of Earth 
feign to ignore, weighs heavy on my heart. 

The happy bird, that sings with fairy voice 
in divine word unspoken past midnight, 
teaches mankind that our freedom of choice 
forms base of our most fundamental right. 
Void of arrogant disdain, I transmit 
light beams of energy through holy writ. 

The rolling stone, that breaks idol of pride 
in evil clone who radiates from my heart, 
returns to river vale where gods abide 
in paradise depicted on no chart. 
Guide of Liberty, whose playful act forms 
part of our drama, protects us from storms.