Both Man And Monster

Both Man And Monster
© Surazeus
2025 03 29

If I misunderstand how the red snow falls 
the gold-eyed cat who lounges on my porch 
could explain secret of romantic faith 
in failure of books to describe the truth 
about the nature of ancestral dreams 
encoded in tribal myths I invent. 

The frog that climbs up window of my heart 
tries to hide eerie glow of the weird moon, 
but I see its shadows in every room, 
even during the day when angry birds 
declare their sovereignty in tangled trees 
with beautiful songs that make my heart ache. 

Before sunset I wander into town 
and sit in the back of the smoky bar 
to eat fish and chips and stare at the lake 
while people stand before the microphone 
and read their secret-coded poetry 
to supportive cheers of their fellow poets. 

Crouching on moon-gold beach of the large lake, 
I write lines of verse in the gleaming sand 
about the United States of Ionia 
through which cabal of poets in black robes 
rule the world with slick advertising slogans, 
till the turtle nibbles at my right hand. 

The bittersweet sorrow of our strange world 
cries out in mindless song of windy rain 
that cannot be translated into words 
so I become the silence of my voice 
that folds my fears into pages of books 
which transform into spirit-haunted trees. 

I dismiss with tragic wave of my hand 
every opinion that clutters my mind 
in vain attempt to sweep them all away 
and clear blinding illusions of despair, 
but spiderweb of truth ensnares my hand 
with sticky nonchalance of sly disgust. 

I refuse to be absolute for death 
except as fateful end that traps us all, 
for I resist the nothingness of fate 
with cautious assertion of faint desire 
to keep on living without trying hard, 
savoring sensations of pleasurable pain. 

Both Beowulf and Grendel are described 
by the Unknown Poet with raven quill 
with similar terms as both man and monster, 
the same as Gilgamesh and Enkidu, 
demonic spirit in civilized man, 
twins contesting to understand red snow.