Tomb Where Jesus Rots

Tomb Where Jesus Rots
© Surazeus
2025 12 11

Each time the door of our house opens wide 
I feel the universe invade my heart, 
so I step through its liminal divide 
to leap across abyss of innocence 
and stare at statues of people who wear 
mask of god to prove they should be alive. 

I hear gravelly voice of the old man, 
who calls everyone he meets Mister Bones, 
clatter loud as boulders of the landslide 
that wipes empires off map of Wonderland 
when he recites proverbs from holy books 
that praise the man who shovels mud with pride. 

The sturdy woman in torn peasant dress, 
whose face shines gold as pumpkins at sunrise, 
recites the alphabet with water voice 
which sparks arousal of my hope to learn 
secret code she recites to indicate 
proper behavior for every event. 

Sudden roar of demonic energy 
startles me from tending my pumpkin patch 
so I spin the circular multiverse 
angled enough to see blur of wings 
when the horseless carriage zooms past my field 
and trundles over horizon of hope. 

When golden stairway to Heaven beams down 
through frantic storm clouds of urgent respect, 
I kneel with brave expectancy of faith 
and watch for Jesus in long fluttering robe 
to float on vibrant wings of piety 
with huge eyes of nuclear divinity. 

Though I pray deep with calm solemnity 
at vision of Heaven transforming Earth 
from cluttered messy hell to paradise, 
Jesus never appears in glorious blaze 
long after darkness shrouds the world in gloom 
so I hide shocked in the windowless room. 

When Phoebus wakes at flash of ecstasy 
from smoky ruins of my aching heart, 
I channel spirit of harmonious Muse 
to sing about the brave philosophers 
who journey forth on quest of curious faith 
to understand true nature of this Earth. 

Lost in the endless maze of history, 
I follow glowing light of wisdom close 
that radiates from Lamp of Diogenes 
to measure structure of this universe 
and analyze physical states of being 
when I explore from tomb where Jesus rots.