Cloak Of Invisible Faith

Cloak Of Invisible Faith
© Surazeus
2026 04 28

If I find truth before the end of time 
in song of sparrows in old maple trees, 
I might find some jagged mountain to climb 
where no official can charge me late fees, 
or else sail ship of state to Samarkand 
where Hatshepsut dances on shifting sand. 

Though I wear cloak of invisible faith 
Death always seems to find out where I live 
hanging out with Boudica in the laithe 
where I milk cows with eagerness to give 
book of secret techniques to the sad prince 
describing how to make jelly from quince. 

I move to the house my grandfather built 
near Pacific Ocean on Seamount Drive 
where I study math formulas of guilt 
that always spur lazy people to strive 
for great achievements in the Land of Oz 
though I play the rebel without a cause. 

I wander randomly on my vague quest 
to find that Woman is the Holy Grail, 
since my ancestors traveled so far west 
from Scythia along the Oregon Trail 
as the Roman Empire still lives in us 
for we are heirs of hungry Tantalus. 

I stand on street corner by the book store 
to strum the lyre of Mercury and sing 
about divine spirit in iron core 
that spins inside the Earth through pulsing ring 
while people toss me coins as they walk by 
since no one wants to understand the Why. 

We elect greedy thief as president 
who likes to mocks the haughty Hercules 
whose sons rule empire of the occident 
through dialectic of sly Socrates 
as sword he wields to expose fake beliefs 
though Jesus has his own weird leitmotifs. 

Since Child of Aphrodite in silk gown 
brews honeysuckle wine from wounded hearts, 
I call Ghost of Pallas to hide the crown 
beneath rotten apples in broken carts, 
yet busts of emperors on my book shelf 
teach me how to see the thing-in-itself. 

Apple trees produce fruit to reproduce, 
caring not whether we eat them or not, 
so I drink nourishing concept of juice 
while Ophelia waits for me on the yacht, 
yet I write truth I find in Riddle Verse 
because my angel is the Healing Nurse.