Trite Tomb Of Truth

Trite Tomb Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 10 26

Strange happiness of the time-neutered mind 
encourages me to photograph the ghost 
whose black eyes sparkle with eccentric fruit 
designed to charge our bodies with delight 
so we embrace with delicate respect 
and dance together by the moonlit pool. 

She digs up the chocolate bar of desire 
from where it was buried in the front yard, 
and eats despair of darkness in the heart 
so we might suffer alligator hope 
when sad leaf falls in loneliness of faith 
in case we decide we want to know why. 

No motive trapped inside the geode shows 
why rage erupts from engine egg of lust 
contrived by ramblers without gold guitars 
to prove in court how often rain might fall 
till dams are shattered by unfaithful cheats 
who sell our treasures to the hungry king. 

Lost in dark labyrinth of fashioned dreams, 
I see my face reflected in the mask 
the bitter devil wears when he attempts 
to tempt me with sweet glamor of world fame, 
so I must execute sharp turn from grace 
to save my soul from damnation of pride. 

Yet when I open window at midnight 
I see white face of the robotic owl 
who watches me with fractured crystal eyes 
while I type holy code of fortitude 
to program how my brain perceives your face 
because I love to float in outer space. 

Every romance in history of the world 
ends in tragic death of both characters 
whether they succeed in their plan or not 
to generate new life before they die 
since clans establish empire of control 
based on the lie of sacred royalty. 

Divine regret of blatant attitudes, 
pasted in the margins of holy books, 
releases me from tension of concern 
that I may not earn entry through the gate 
where Peter judges deeds my heart performs 
based on intention to create the good. 

Real nothingness inside my hollow heart 
increases vibrate flush of putrid air 
so I float aimlessly on plastic wings 
above the endless global maze of myths 
where I see every person on the Earth 
walk confidently toward trite tomb of truth.