Thursday, March 13, 2025

Children Wear My Face

Children Wear My Face
© Surazeus
2025 03 13

Green flashing radar blinks its gargoyle eye 
and beeps to indicate with pulsing point 
existential threat to our normalcy 
tangled with blues of tornado debris 
sung by the blind seer on the busy street 
whose mercurial voice haunts hot afternoons. 

I will not let the world transcribe my life 
with standard stereotype in plastic mask 
when children wear my face on Halloween, 
for my time on this spinning globe of dirt 
may be intense with melancholy angst 
but brief as flutter of butterfly wings. 

Trapped in hungry state of barefoot resolve 
with tattered hat of Huckleberry Finn, 
I become someone else I never was 
after thinking I should be who I am, 
pliable sculpture of the headless god 
bestowed with laurel of the thorny crown. 

I shield my heart with books of faceless ghosts 
which insures it is not available 
for manipulation through social codes 
which program how I navigate this life, 
so where I end up falling over dead 
is inconsequential to where I go. 

When I find discarded on the sidewalk 
random page from lost book of poetry, 
I realize with wry grin of droll insight 
the destination of this life we choose 
has always been the farce of consequence 
we fail to avoid when we change our life. 

Tracing forms of objects my eyes perceive 
which manifest changeless ideas of hope, 
and climbing trees on rugged mountain slope 
to understand ritual I play to grieve, 
I gaze upon stone idol of my soul 
which reflects weird beauty of the White Whole. 

Each action I perform as human being, 
composed of atoms swerving through the void, 
transmits immortal spirit of my genes 
compiled from flashing molecules of love 
through each organic body I become 
as I evolve from fish to wingless angel. 

Spells I transmit in morse code of the heart 
are indicator of my psychic state 
through holding pattern of enlightenment 
which I attain with wings of Icarus 
when I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
before I crumble in my silent grave. 


1 comment:

  1. Orpheus arranges torn fragments from pages of ancient stories in puzzle of perception to rediscover lost dreams of the dead.

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