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Sunday, March 30, 2025

House Of Every Ghost

House Of Every Ghost
© Surazeus
2025 03 30

When swirling snowflakes freeze into the house 
where every human in the world has lived, 
I approach wavering illusion of hope 
to observe drama of their lives play out 
in ghostly shadows of wordless desire, 
but cannot open the doors of their graves. 

Easy laughter rattles windows of time 
with unearned urgency of unkempt class 
that scatters puzzle pieces on wood floors 
to clutter stage of graceful tragedy 
since cracks that let the light of hope get in 
cannot conceal meaninglessness of life. 

Writing names of ghosts on new-blooming leaves, 
I whisper secret cipher that conceals 
stories of their lives in weird archetypes 
so Death can never find them in the room 
where they arrange photos of memories 
in graphic novels that sprout raven wings. 

Though I walk the signless road of everywhere 
ten thousand years from sea to shining sea, 
I never see another ghost like me 
with eyes that depict islands in the sea 
where every ancestor who wove my genes 
walks forever on beach of singing waves. 

I ponder how with branches of fruit trees 
I might encrypt conceptual memories 
in cosmic archetypes of normal things 
through sacred letters of the alphabet 
that writhe across snow with serpentine grace 
reserved for scientific formulas. 

Footprints of ghosts in ever-falling snow 
lead me to giant hall of steel and glass, 
far grander than Valhalla of my heart, 
where twenty thousand hungry troubadours 
sell each other books of their prophecies 
that hint at sorrow of domestic scenes. 

Assembled in hall of fairy-tale books 
that record enchanting tales of romance, 
ghosts of prophets, singers, and troubadours 
tag themselves with badge of diversity 
based on inclusion that binds random souls 
through staged dramas of social equity. 

True history that records human events 
transforms into mythical fairy tales 
etched in blue ice on windows of the house 
where ghosts of all the souls who ever live 
gather to read each other poetry 
that swirl as snowflakes through eternity. 

1 comment:

  1. Orpheus walks around the house of every ghost to find the door that opens secret of the universe.

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