Wednesday, December 4, 2024

Homes Where I Belong Not

Homes Where I Belong Not
© Surazeus
2024 12 04

Softly the day retains its gratitude 
that Death is floating blindly in warm light 
this winter morning of ardent respect 
we share for translating alien dreams 
for voices of the wind in falling leaves 
that reveals portrait of the world we love. 

With congregation on the astral plane, 
we tell each other what we value most, 
then sell our stories on the internet 
to strangers who want to play someone else, 
till we no longer recognize ourselves 
reflected in the pool where Echo mourns. 

To brood on wetness of the psychic zone, 
regardless of how it affects my grades, 
I float on my back on the ocean wave 
to feel bright angels of the abyss glow 
with eyes that see beyond eternity 
which helps me understand my aching heart. 

Mouth open to taste the infinite sky, 
I research history of the elegy 
elusive with code of manners decried 
at shocking rudeness of the good to die, 
and bleed their holiness on the church floor 
when Icarus stumbles trying to get up. 

Outwitted by Death with each game we play, 
I relax on the beach with glass of juice 
and contemplate the strangeness of pure light 
which our ancestors thought had consciousness, 
blind with obscene scene on the screen unseen 
based on the arbitrariness of truth. 

When the angel of truth stays at my house, 
she leaves her memories in the old shoe box 
after discarding my hopes in the fireplace, 
then pours milk in the glass, but stares alone 
out every window at secrets I hide, 
then abandons me to fake happiness. 

More fickle than sad savior of the world, 
I prophesy what no one wants to hear, 
naming land where I live Zarathia 
so I can say I am no immigrant, 
though I keep wandering sea to shining sea, 
leaving behind homes where I belong not. 

Still confident that my weird songs ring true, 
I skip with Louise on the signless road, 
eager to perform in the next small town 
our cute Shepherdess and Clown in Love play, 
but gunshots ring across the treeless plain, 
and she works in the factory today. 


1 comment:

  1. Orpheus asks Louise in the lunch room why she always cries, so she shows him a photo of her and her dead husband from their vaudeville days.

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