Glamor Of Our Thoughts

Glamor Of Our Thoughts
© Surazeus
2024 12 29

We sail forever on river of words 
that began to flow from mouth of First Mother 
and takes us from the mountain cave of dreams 
where she first woke to vision of the world 
one hundred million years down to the sea 
where we build virtual city of the mind. 

The world we see is not the world we speak 
for we invent the glamor of our thoughts 
as truth-veil to hide indifference of Nature 
which allows us to give each other hope 
as we extract desire from soil of Earth 
to eat as fruit with spirit of the Sun. 

Escaping dream illusion built of words 
to explore the real world outside our language, 
I leave city maze of commercial games 
and dwell in cave where faceless angels sing 
before oak wood statue hidden in shadow 
that depicts soul of Antonius Patavinus. 

The rotting statue of the dead saint crumbles 
to dust that swirls as sparkles in moonlight, 
so I carve new statue with my own face 
that resembles one billion living people 
whose words swirl from their mouths as hurricanes 
which people mistake as the Voice of God. 

Just as I float above frame of my body 
as faceless phantom of the world wide web, 
the Queen of Sheba arrives at my cave 
and asks me to compose new manuscript 
that illustrates whole history of the world 
so I weave tales in Chronicle of Eve. 

Through imperial decree of honest words 
I unite wingless angels with one heart 
from Zarathia, Gothinia, and Russia 
in new global Empire of Anglonesia 
which legislates national security 
to guard our bodies in haven of faith. 

Waking alone in cave of my illusions, 
I watch beautiful palace of my words 
crumble into snowflakes of arrogance 
that cleanses soil from blood of civil war 
so flowers and fruit trees blossom in spring 
as always, though our world empires collapse. 

While we lounged in the global tree of fruit, 
First Mother taught me how to express words 
in stream of psychic melodies that form 
vision of the world as subjects who act 
as we perform grand political plays, 
then rot in death as children call us gods.