Museum Of The Heart

Museum Of The Heart
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

Each time I meet someone on long life road 
who stumbles, half bent under heavy load 
of sorrow they feel duty-bound to bear, 
I point their way to the heavenly stair 
that requires they leave all burdens behind 
so they are free to grow in their own mind. 

All these cute bromides the suffering share 
are broken toys abandoned on the stair 
because the drunk man, bruised by fight for pride, 
cannot find where the innocent must hide 
to open fragile wings in frantic flight 
and escape his rage in defective night. 

Relaxed on hill of our disastrous breeze, 
my mother gives me her forensic keys 
that function to open library doors 
which preserve melody of ocean shores 
recorded clear in my ancestral dreams 
because I follow ministerial streams. 

Yet all I remember from sitting in school 
is learning how to employ naive rule 
as mental mechanic repairing the brain 
which animates my mercurial gain 
when I navigate winding career path 
as cartographer through magic of math. 

I see reflected in each human face 
obsessive anguish of the angel race 
to investigate murder mystery 
at core of political history 
recording how kings kill to maintain peace 
yet protect only those who pay the lease. 

Dwelling safe in Museum of the Heart, 
which our ancestors built on our star chart, 
I compose new narrative for the world 
around eighth coming of the cosmic herald 
who builds world state that supports spirit birth 
comprising United Nations of Earth. 

When Salome dances before world king 
while she wears my spirit-enchanting ring, 
I may start to love her and lose my head, 
which she will bear home on platter of lead 
to shield my brain against radiant waves 
through prophecies of oracles in caves. 

When you and I meet on long road of life, 
united in goal to overcome strife, 
we build from ruins of America 
state of equal rights named Zarathia 
which binds the rebel with the orthodox 
through spiral riddle of psychotic clocks.