Global Game Of Fame

Global Game Of Fame
© Surazeus
2026 01 04

Reptilian core of my aggressive brain 
wants to compete in global game of fame 
on mission to play God of psychic power, 
but I prefer to meditate in peace 
by breathing calmly under the fig tree, 
ignoring frantic energy of hope. 

When haughty spirit of Marsyas howls 
with passionate desire of bitter pride 
to challenge Apollo in game of song, 
I turn away from stage of global fame 
and journey in the waste land of desire 
to expel that demon from my base heart. 

When Apollo binds Marsyas to the tree 
to remove mask of his face from his soul 
and hang it in Temple of the Erased, 
I suppress my desire for global fame 
because divine power of prophecy rules 
punishment for mortal fools who seek fame. 

No Jesus writhing on the cross of fame, 
nor Odin hanging over well of runes, 
I seek calm bird-song solitude of groves, 
with Shelley on the Arno River shore 
or with Keats in garden of the plum tree, 
to compose chronicle of human dreams. 

Instead of suffering agony for fame, 
chosen by Zeus to sing his prophecies 
that satirize pride of arrogant kings 
and eulogize humility of heroes, 
I want to live in peaceful harmony 
with my wife and kids while mapping the world. 

With feathers of angels from paradise, 
as quills I dip in demonic blood ink, 
I write serpentine spells of riddle verse 
with electric runes in blessing and curse 
to chronicle quest of the mortal mind 
that seeks enlightenment as the God Soul. 

My songs are spells on fragile autumn leaves, 
which translate weird song of the nightingale, 
then blow away in swirls of the west wind 
to scatter seeds of long-forgotten dreams 
as dust that sparkles on soft desert dunes 
where the prophet speaks with the snake of death. 

When I hear voices of the human race 
pulse passionately behind their placid face, 
I transcribe riddles of their frantic hopes 
to idolize human minds in myth tropes 
when we all sing in global choir of souls 
who dissipate in waves on ancient shoals.