Saturday, October 19, 2024

Cut-Throat Market Game

Cut-Throat Market Game
© Surazeus
2024 10 19

Promises bought and sold in the Dream Store 
sour and rot when hoarded in the sad heart, 
so scatter them as seeds in soil of faith 
so they sprout into vines heavy with hope 
that nourish your arrogant fantasies 
till they change your waste land to paradise. 

These concepts, faith and hope, crumble to dust 
in grasping hands of my hungry despair, 
and transform into frantic butterflies 
that swirl around my soul to implicate 
my heart in psychic crime of lust for life 
that shatters mirror of my fantasy. 

I laugh at wickedness of vain desire 
with urgent passion to dance in wild wind 
that batters me with gusts of mocking love 
as I prance joyfully on grassy slope 
to stand on jagged ridge of lofty hope 
and survey cluttered maze of market streets. 

To live we must consume material forms 
imbued with bright energy of the sun 
contained in plants that blossom from wet soil, 
or meat of animals soaked with red blood, 
so I must gesture my aggressive hands 
to extract food from spirit of the Earth. 

If I herd sheep on flowered meadow slopes 
while someone else tends florid apple trees, 
we barter to exchange goods we produce, 
yet if I want brass cauldron to cook stew 
then I sell sheep for coins stamped with the face 
of honest judge who presides in the bank. 

Yet someone always tries to sell me short, 
and cheat me out of value I am worth, 
so I, with aching heart of sadness, long 
to leave the cut-throat market game behind 
and dwell in peace above the clamorous throng, 
but hunger drives me to employ my hands. 

We gather round the fountain in the square 
to hear candidates for the Market Judge 
present their visions for prosperity, 
then choosing stones we exercise our vote 
for who will better serve the common good 
enforcing fair laws with justice for all. 

Beneath the rowan tree on flowered hill 
I play turtle-shell lyre my father made, 
and sing sweet heart-enchanting melodies 
while Nomia dances with elegant grace 
and sings to me, Daphnis, my shepherd love, 
fill my heart with pure beauty of your soul. 


1 comment:

  1. Orpheus finds his shepherd son playing lyre he made to woo heart of the star-eyed nymph with flowing curls of long black hair.

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