Friday, March 14, 2025

Our Mortality

Our Mortality
© Surazeus
2025 03 14

Though stars shine on the stretch of snowy road 
which I follow to the ends of the Earth, 
I savor strange miracle of being alive 
as conscious clump of random particles 
that blink bright as the lonely traffic light 
without concern for our mortality. 

Though I smell odor of the evening rain 
that opens portal to another world, 
I walk through shadow of the humming oak 
to gather acorns from the dusty road 
so I can can hear people in the church sing 
without concern for our mortality. 

Though I walk backward up the abstract stairs 
to analyze their function without form, 
I understand new symbol of lost faith 
contained in tulips in the fractured vase 
which invade sorrow with beauty of pain 
without concern for our mortality. 

Though leaves float proudly on the flowing stream 
with subtle lightness of the careful breeze, 
I ask the mushroom toad with rainbow eyes 
where all my faceless relatives have gone 
who vanished at the screaming flash of dawn 
without concern for our mortality. 

Though time refracts in dreamless eyes of hope 
delinquent signal of my pulsing soul, 
I borrow naked innocence from Death, 
pretending to be cloud in clumsy form 
caught in rapid orbit of puzzling words 
without concern for our mortality. 

Though I want to play meadow bull of strength 
who rules the world with haughty arrogance, 
I feel more like the newly-hatched sea turtle 
that races toward the moon inside the sea 
then swims with awkward grace in tumbling waves 
without concern for our mortality. 

Though random shadows of the mountain lurk 
on airplane wings above the holy world, 
I carry bag of dirt from my hometown 
while traveling west across houseless prairies 
to heap it by the river where I die 
without concern for our mortality. 

Though we make angels in the sparkling snow 
before bombs blow our homes to smithereens, 
we write our stories in library books 
that no one reads for twenty thousand years 
so we catch stars in snowflakes of the mind 
without concern for our mortality. 


1 comment:

  1. Orpheus rearranges library books with the stories of our lives every day till Ungod becomes concerned about our mortality.

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