Almost Obscene Truths

Almost Obscene Truths
© Surazeus
2025 08 09

More than conceptual laughter of white crows, 
or angels tangled in crabapple trees, 
or green regret of almost obscene truths, 
unfurling pages of observant books 
reflect how children love to play at dusk 
aggressive games against mute emptiness. 

Because nothing begins with the glass trees 
that intertwine burnt bodies dangerously, 
we kiss too tender for angels to die 
against assertive ardency of clocks 
that strike us with libidinous concern 
before the second coming of the horse. 

Abandoned infants of the deviled seer 
decide to salvage half-burned tree of faith 
consumed by silver flames of baseless fears 
when broadleaf shoots ascend toward fractured light 
since winter sullies righteousness of love 
which nature keys to propagate our brains. 

With reckless courage of the chestnut horse 
you dare decode lost chocolate cake of fame 
despite the onyx storm of crumbling thrones 
for which cruel oligarchs of banks compete 
while ghosts stare at their faces in dead trees 
beneath the brightening sky of fractured words. 

Half dead already with the torch of time, 
I keep on playing chess with angled tricks 
in praise of mystery for the cheerful girl 
who rides white bull of Zeus on ocean shore 
to write unerring book of galaxies 
with expert constancy of curious awe. 

Some claim that darkness still unites our hearts 
with distant coldness of internal space, 
but I disprove their weird hypothesis 
by catching raindrops from glass eyes of god 
whose weeping causes world-destructive floods 
while we sip root beers on library steps. 

No ordinary god with zillion eyes of light 
dwells happily on invisible worlds, 
yet I confuse my pleasure with mute grief, 
accustomed to grim quietude of time 
when sand yawns vast as star-creating clouds 
because my soul cannot be trapped by words. 

I pierce adamant solitude of life, 
evading need to die as sacrifice 
so people of the world can read and write 
with simple letters that signify sounds 
though I dance ballet on transmission wires, 
passionate to transcend my wretched pain.