Saturday, November 2, 2024

Winged Epiphanies Of Joy

Winged Epiphanies Of Joy
© Surazeus
2024 11 02

Words of the wind seem to erase my soul 
while I lie wounded on hard river rocks, 
yet up on angel wings I now will rise 
with breath of clouds inspiring me to laugh, 
for need of comforting repels my heart 
with contradiction carved from arrogance. 

Secretly sick at heart with ignored love, 
I gleefully watch syntax of frail hope 
deride my sense of self with ruthless angst 
so spirit of my mind continues on, 
invested in strange truth bought by applause 
when I become the window I would break. 

Imagined book that disregards my gaze 
wants me to believe in honest contempt 
of audience members for lies I recite, 
averse to cultivating followers 
who endure winged epiphanies of joy 
I present as doctrine of fallen gods. 

Betrayal cheap with performative pride 
distracts attention of the cheering crowd 
who will react how I program them to, 
since they are puppets in disdainful hands 
that make them believe in truths I invent 
to keep them from rebelling against me. 

Uncharitable progress of special art 
with blood and mud and oil smeared on white walls 
defines dysfunctional relationship 
that binds my heart to projects I design 
to support social system of contempt 
which I undermine by using words wrong. 

With the right amount of contempt for facts, 
based on conceptual deceit of dream code, 
we fool each other to vote for the clown 
who burns the church with us all locked inside 
till torrents of rain from angry Sky God 
confounds insurgents against jeweled crowns. 

Sign of the times in flashing neon lights 
beams beacon of freedom across the land, 
so people wrapped in coats with dripping hats 
hurry though indifferent rain of respect 
to give books of riddles to half-dead gods 
so they have something to read as they die. 

Arranged in latest fashion of fake thoughts, 
my solemn stories of urbanized scenes 
display power games between wealthy clans, 
so when I investigate their vile crimes 
they hire the Lizard Rake to shoot me dead, 
my face streaked with blood in laughing rain. 


1 comment:

  1. Orpheus finds the investigative journalist stumbling on the pine forest country road in the late autumn night thunder storm.

    ReplyDelete