Why We Are Mortal

Why We Are Mortal
© Surazeus
2024 09 19

Wishing I could be immortal and free 
from this body of chemical desire, 
I walk elsewhere among the singing trees 
to sit in sunlight of unspoken words 
and wait for someone to walk down the road 
who brings obscure book of the secret truth. 

Almost past midpoint of new promised year 
through riddles printed in the almanac, 
I smell strange scent of summer on the page 
of every book I open to the wind, 
though I fall silent with attentive hope 
to watch what might happen before the end. 

Strange faceless shadow of my ancient soul, 
who looks at me from mirror on the wall, 
decides what truth about my inner thoughts 
I should perceive as silver clouds of truth 
that sprinkle rain of afternoon to cleanse 
heart-breaking horror of the singing sea. 

Impatient for what blue skies want to say 
about soft density of wordless love, 
I treasure secret of the apple tree 
based on my shadow on the selfless grass 
who urges me to hurry past the hour 
the moon will rise on Phoenix wings of power. 

Always at center of the turning world, 
awake with question of how light knows why 
our bodies buzz with atoms of the mind, 
I tend to business of the steady rain 
with project to equalize rights of souls 
who give each other nothingness of love. 

Yet colors of the world must orchestrate 
authority of tact programmed by fate 
to challenge traditions we still obey 
with loyal adherence to the bright sea 
whose depth is measured by the snarky Sphinx 
who tells me my failures are my success. 

Addressing blind clock of eternity 
that spirals atoms in net of my brain, 
I start to think about the honest way 
time dilates whispers through windowless homes 
each time I draw another writhing rune 
from bottomless well of my loving heart. 

As incarnation of the oracle, 
I predict pattern of the molecule 
that spirals from first flash of the big bang 
to form this planet that creates my soul 
so I can wake her conscious mind in me 
and tell you why we are mortal and free.