We Hear No Bells Ring

We Hear No Bells Ring
© Surazeus
2024 12 30

So many ways for water to flow blue 
reveal brief settlement of social norms 
shaped by soft atmosphere of cozy homes 
where people hide from chaos of despair 
to bake fruit pies and sip hot chocolate 
while watching snow map motions of the mind. 

Walls of our houses gather light we share 
to code strange sorrows that still stir within, 
preserving memories long frozen gray 
by wings of passing angels when we pray, 
though we dishonor gestures of respect 
by breaking monuments of silent ice. 

We feel soft weight of twenty million years 
in timeless moment of this gold-lit hour 
before noon wrecks beliefs we built with care 
composed of long sojourns in foreign lands 
till bones of our ancestors claim this space 
as our true homeland since cold dawn of time. 

Now rooted in this changeless land of wind, 
tagged with false name of faceless ghost we fear, 
we find our secrets incomplete yet true, 
so sudden end of time starts up again 
our project to design vast tapestries 
we weave from songs of broken radios. 

We write our stories on soft leaves of trees 
through restless dramas written by moonrays, 
so when they fall, now brittle with despair, 
we sweep them into piles of restless words 
unread by patient mountains of concern, 
which would embrace us to their breasts of stone. 

Though we mark ends of years on calendars 
when lands of aching hope are frozen cold, 
and flow of change lithe dancers calculate 
has stalled at pause of fearful discontent, 
atomic flash of time will never cease 
to push our bodies toward our hollow graves. 

Since winter seems to down the dying hour 
through languid settlement of fractured hope, 
we surge against snow of despair with cause 
to readjust slow-motion crash of fate 
with angled reference based on measured grace 
so we emerge from gloom with sunlit eyes. 

We hear no bells ring in the new-year faith 
now that greed drives the hungry tyrant mad, 
so we brace hearts of innocence for hell 
unleashed by gang of thieves with wrecking hands 
who blast our monuments to liberty, 
then party in the rubble of lost hope.