Ghosts Of Mad Tyrants

Ghosts Of Mad Tyrants
© Surazeus
2024 09 12

Though I try to ignore global events 
by focusing attention of my mind 
on beauty of truth inherent in death, 
ghosts of mad tyrants clutter the chessboard 
who still try to control how people live 
despite declarations of liberty. 

Men who were admired as heroes of war, 
once glorified in ancient epic tales, 
shrank down to demons gibbering in Hell 
while pencil-pushers dressed in business suits 
drink wine at the annual holiday ball 
while factory workers wait in line for bread. 

New tyrants pretend to play president 
while ruling over thousand-year empires 
where every person performs their small role 
in global drama of the Weeping God 
who flies sleek airplane among glowing clouds 
to secret Island of the Holy Book. 

More people are born every day on Earth 
than die through generations of desire 
as our bodies recycle molecules 
so our soul genes attain eternal life 
when atoms of the Earth become our brains 
that helps her feel herself alive in us. 

Successful in my program to avoid 
endless social problems that plague the world, 
I lounge on back porch of my secret home 
to pluck guitar and hum weird melody 
that vibes my haunting melancholy mood 
with eerie longing of the Celtic flute. 

No matter who the people choose to rule 
as boss to manage our economy, 
we will attend the station of our work 
in our global food-production machine, 
whether the tyrant who falls from blind pride, 
or the savior who stands guard on the tower. 

Determined to build our own paradise 
of walls surrounding garden of fruit trees, 
Eve and I leave prison Eden is now 
since the proud king demands obedience, 
and walk the signless road as refugees 
to escape his religious tyranny. 

As wingless angel with no flaming sword, 
I guard home, where my wife and children live 
free from oppression of the greedy king, 
we built in lush land far across the sea, 
but even here, in forest of oak trees, 
ghosts of mad tyrants haunt our paradise.