Sculpted Promised Land

Sculpted Promised Land
© Surazeus
2024 10 23

The rich man who tried to buy deathlessness 
still wanders in his sculpted Promised Land 
where ghosts of his children give paper dolls, 
they snipped from image of angels in books, 
to bright-eyed tourists searching for the Truth 
buried in the garden of singing skulls. 

Statues of every god who ever lived 
in bright imaginations of their tribes 
line primrose paths by sparkling fountain pools 
where swans of crystal ice sing elegies 
for children who run laughing among flowers 
t0 chase elusive butterfly of love. 

They stare at me, clean statues of dead gods, 
though I am transient flicker of soul-flame, 
for they stand sentinel in garden of faith 
thousands of years, long before I was born, 
and will remain watching History of Man 
long after my children bury my corpse. 

Blind to this image greater than my own, 
I listen for lost song of solitude 
sung by arrogant ocean waves of pride 
that vibrates in blood pumping in my veins, 
then try to explain through math formulas 
how genes design these bodies of our souls. 

In signs of truths only my mind perceives 
eternal mirror of sun-threaded brains 
reflects events of consequence from cause 
that urges motion of material forms 
through psychic animation of free will 
which ripples waves of prophesied effects. 

Young girl with hair that shimmers seashell gold 
configures structure of unmeasured hope 
with delicate caress of shy affection 
that molds conceptual phantom of my soul 
from sea-wave murmur of respectful prayers 
which signifies unmaking of the heart. 

Framed in cracked window of immensity, 
my soul creates false image of its face 
for demons dancing on Plutonian shore 
to wear with mockery of my grim success 
when they go knocking on suburban doors 
to threaten tricks if they receive no treats. 

Should we now attend the heavenly feast 
in ruined temple of the laughing snake, 
we might find founded firm on rolling Earth 
our sculpted Promised Land of global peace 
where families picnic by the sparkling stream 
though bombs destroy dream homes they had rebuilt.