Tuesday, November 12, 2024

Attack Me With Beauty

Attack Me With Beauty
© Surazeus
2024 11 12

Every open door that leads somewhere else 
fools me that I might have found the true way 
to paradise of the mind. Falling leaves 
cover graves of people I never met, 
yet I invent names and tales of their lives 
so I can feel like we might have been friends. 

Three times I turn knob of the faceless door. 
Three times I hear the sparrow in the elm 
tell me I will never see one I love 
anymore. Someone gives me empty book 
without explaining what I should do now, 
so I laugh. The river goes where it wants. 

I want to be friends with the empty book 
but it keeps disappearing from my room. 
I look in the cloud that gives me its rain. 
I look in the tree that gives me its fruit. 
I look in the hill that gives me its bones. 
Only the mute horse understands my hope. 

Sharp pain in my back startles me awake 
so I stand by the elm and stare at stars 
that refuse to explain. I try to make 
sense out of the shadow that slowly moves 
toward me as it disappears. Butterflies 
attack me with beauty I try to feel. 

When I hurry down the hall of classrooms 
people I know well retrieve charming smiles 
to pull skeleton keys out of their mouths. 
Knowing I will be late to find the truth, 
I look at the clock that spirals away 
on angel wings. If door of time is locked. 

I kneel by her desk in front of the class 
and ask about the calculator brain 
her mother made for me before she died. 
She gives me the raven quill of weird truth 
without the jar of blood I need to write. 
I search my backpack for the secret code. 

The destination where I need to go 
recedes into the maze of city streets 
till the glass moon breaks. Arbitrary thoughts 
trick me with flashing lights I cannot see 
through mist of ennui. Wordness transforms 
bodies of people into ghostly tales. 

I paint faces on every fear-locked door 
to indicate I am willing to play 
role of the jester who can make you laugh 
with relief that everybody will die. 
Sorrows attack me with beauty of truth 
after my rebirth as the cosmic herald. 


1 comment:

  1. Orpheus paints faces of the dead on the locked door of their coffins that take them to the center of the world.

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