Library Of Loud Lies

Library Of Loud Lies
© Surazeus
2024 11 02

The best way to know if your state of mind 
is real as the fake television show, 
is paint your secret name on the road sign 
so Death will be confused by Water Song 
and pass your lonely house by every year 
till you live more than ninety thousand years. 

We always talk about the reason why 
ghosts of angels sprout from ablative seeds 
to formulate spiritual breath of trees 
who ask us why we cage the singing bird 
with arrogant assumption we are free 
to choose how we are born, and live, and die. 

I find no happy paradise of love 
somewhere over the rainbow of my hope 
teeming with spirits from multiple worlds, 
though I try to conjure them from books 
that I stole from Library of Loud Lies 
constructed from the bones of long-dead gods. 

I want to go back to living in trees 
where I can chat with birds about true love, 
as if my words could conjure from desire 
real situation in the feasting hall 
where vision of the future I reveal 
could motivate people to live through love. 

Sweet laughter of inimitable joy 
confounds my mind with arrogant disdain 
I try to extricate with magic spell 
from wounded apple of my naive heart 
till voices wake me from dark reverie 
and ask me for key to the castle door. 

Humming holy hymns to the lonely god, 
who waits on the swing by the mirror pool, 
I bake apple pies from the wounded hearts 
of maimed orphans who survive holy wars, 
but someone steals the sugar of true faith 
so they wander lost on the signless road. 

Arriving at Library of Loud Lies, 
which Lucifer charged his demons to build 
as core temple of Pandemonium, 
maimed orphans of the latest holy war 
ask Serapis for jobs copying books 
with myths of gods who despise humankind. 

We gather on skull-littered river shore 
to baptize our souls in Alethe River 
that flows by the throne of mad Jupiter 
to gain salvation from empire mind-frame 
so I star in the television show 
where I play Prophet of Zarathia.