Potatoes In Wet Fields

Potatoes In Wet Fields
© Surazeus
2025 12 07

I walk in every city of the world, 
holding signs with names of their long-dead gods, 
so they arrest me with chains of fake laws 
and lock my soul in prison of their fears, 
but I transform to butterfly of faith 
and leave them weeping in their doorless rooms. 

Children spring from potatoes in wet fields 
and run circles around large army tanks 
till falling snow melts metal of mute rage 
in face-reflecting pools of history 
that trap our memories in photographs 
tossed about by wind from bomb-shattered homes. 

Wheels made of sticks bound with innocent lies 
roll over muddy plains of rotting wheat 
till endless stories dripping from our tongues 
pave signless roads with asphalt demon blood 
that shimmers with mirage of sacred truth 
which distracts us from our quest to find god. 

These sprawling cities that map maze of streets 
insist they are the self-portrait of god 
who always stares down from castle of clouds 
to see his soul embodied by us humans 
who play subconscious energies of lust 
he tries to subsume in sacrifice myths. 

Risen from dank grave of forgotten fate, 
I walk lush undulating hills of time 
with serpent-writhing spine of urgent faith 
to dance with taut proximity through rain 
that shatters treasure chest of my frail heart 
in gleaming fragments of my mirror brain. 

Yet plasma waves from bright crown of the sun 
eject assertive mass of psychic light 
to magnetize our bodies with god-souls 
so we feel divine spirit in our bones 
radiate electric words through gusts of breath 
to fill our flashing cells with holy eyes. 

She plants tomato seeds of humble faith 
in lust-rancid soil of my fertile heart, 
then beams with joy when they burst into bloom 
that leaves sweet odor in harvesting hands 
when we relax beneath the Knowledge Tree 
and share sweet kisses with our juice-smeared lips. 

Fluorescent angel flashing in green rain 
reveals weird beauty of our universe 
as we walk holding hands down empty street 
but stop surprised by the art gallery 
to see the full moon fill our hearts with joy, 
then run to make love in our doorless room.