How Beautiful Humans Are

How Beautiful Humans Are
© Surazeus
2024 09 20

We almost never see the face of death 
rise moonly pale from sea of swirling souls, 
yet we stroll blithely down the road of life 
as if forever knows our secret name, 
till flowers blossom from my startled brain, 
wakened by kisses of the lovely rain. 

When I learn how beautiful humans are 
because we play in enigmatic woods, 
I order choas of aggressive plants 
in golden garden of my brilliant hopes 
so we flow sweetly in our cryptic homes 
to share apple cider with nameless ghosts. 

I feel the best time to be curious 
about strange beauty of the natural world 
is when my camera opens eagle wings 
and flies into dim shadow of my fear 
to expose why nobody really cares 
about insanity of saintliness. 

With tidy answers of unravelings 
I translate horrible song of the sea 
to sacred hymns blind angels love to sing 
in praise of sanctimonious suffering 
which resurrects my body from the word 
tightly binding unread books in the sky. 

Born in the secret cage of holy words, 
with precious guitar I make from moonlight, 
I walk invisibly through city crowds 
to steal memories dripping from their eyes 
so I can paint road signs with angel blood 
that show the way forward in maze of myths. 

Good at pretending I am kind and wise, 
I bleed my tragic tale through telephones 
about the night our bus tickets get lost 
till I wander the wretched world of masks 
with plan to unbury fake god of light 
who judges me for what I never say. 

We always fall off walls of paradise 
when angels swoop down from indifferent clouds 
to give us keys that open tower doors 
where we go to hide from hunger of hope 
as if we are not special and unique 
because we sell our souls to empty books. 

No one pays attention to the old man 
who gibbers madly by the city gate 
while saints contend for who will rule the world 
in brutal battle on the dusty plain 
where children play soccer with skulls of gods 
whose noble faces are reclaimed by Death.