Often Mistaken For God

Often Mistaken For God
© Surazeus
2025 05 20

That dying star that no angel can see, 
which travels both directions beyond light, 
sprinkles snow flakes of religious desire 
on faces of the faithful by the lake 
where their prophet who tried to walk on water 
has not yet emerged from abyss of time. 

As I stand on broken edge of the world 
ready to dive into abyss of time, 
I wonder if I should be sore afraid 
of swimming in the ocean of my mind 
to find the luminous soul of my heart 
that I have often mistaken for God. 

Should I surrender wisdom of my faith 
to swim in infinite flow of desire, 
then I would feel light of that dying star 
glow in each neuron of my dreaming brain 
so I speak with voice of the oracle 
from the model of Delphi in my yard. 

The Goddess with one hundred billion eyes, 
who created this world of swirling souls, 
teaches me how to speak of what I see 
so she can know if anything is real, 
yet I keep singing visions of my mind 
long after she melts as snow into flowers. 

Each sentiment of beauty I perceive 
can never quench thirst of desire to know 
divine concept of the right character 
who gives me oranges from the tree of faith 
that flash diamond flames in eggs of my eyes 
so I record secret names of the dead. 

We cannot rightly bifurcate the truth 
by twisting wings of sorrow from god skulls, 
yet we can dance with the divinely dead 
whose faces smile from photos on the wall 
when I decide each day which mask to wear 
in sacred role of prophet no one hears. 

Rewinding details of ideal concepts 
from fracture of space collapsed into words, 
I hold up the sky with keyboard of dreams 
to program how the Earth perceives itself 
through myths of fate in television shows 
that lonely people sing about in church. 

The dying star that flashes back and forth 
replaces concept of my world with code 
translating visions into fairy tales 
that parents read their children as they die 
whose luminous souls float in the night sky 
that I have often mistaken for God.