Tuesday, December 24, 2024

Dream About Rivers

Dream About Rivers
© Surazeus
2024 12 24

Though I dream about rivers every day, 
the way they glisten in light of the sun 
as they wind among hills and across plains, 
flowing from mountain snow to the wild sea, 
I have not spent this life time on their shores 
as much as I want to dwell in their glow. 

From space of my house on the oak-wood hill, 
within four walls of unorthodox insight, 
I hear mercurial song of the wild rivers 
pulse in harmony with blood in my veins 
that echoes voices of the ancient dead 
who walked along those rivers long ago. 

I am not disappointed by my fate, 
for I created mine with every choice 
that I performed from vision of desire 
which I projected at the natural world 
as light to guide my quest beyond the garden 
which nurtures fragile body of my soul. 

Yet light-masked phantom of my nameless self 
still walks along the lush tree-clustered shores 
of ten thousand rivers around the world 
where my ancestors woke from starry dream 
to find their name inside the fractured stone 
that still glows in neural net of my brain. 

If I heed siren cry of river nymphs, 
which I hear soft as subtle undertone 
to humming machinery of world commerce, 
I may escape from station of my duty 
and wander without care for wealth or fame, 
lost forever along the shining river. 

Since my ancestors, searching for their names, 
have explored the long course of countless rivers, 
mapping them in dream landscape of my brain, 
the modern names we use to signify 
process of their flow honor brave explorers 
who embodied their energy through love. 

The gods and nymphs recorded in old myths 
still haunt those rivers that now bear their names, 
which seals consequence of dramatic lives 
in legends that recount their tragedies, 
though we forget fierce passion of their hopes 
as we relive them now in our own plays. 

As child of the river in human form, 
I am the radiant phantom of its water 
encased in bounds of fiber-woven flesh 
that pulses with weird rhythm its flow, 
so I preserve the river in my heart 
when I translate its beat to sentient verse. 


1 comment:

  1. Orpheus stares at the river where the Maenads threw his head which sings its beat to sentient verse which prophesy the rise and fall of empires for ten thousand years.

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