Gold Sibylline Cage

Gold Sibylline Cage
© Surazeus
2026 05 05

I will fight no more wars of holy hope 
against aggressive growing of hill grass 
that always seems to know where I am at 
in faltered progress to the Promised Land 
where I am sure to find fortune and fame 
that traps me in the gold sibylline cage. 

When rain drenches Earth in casual tears, 
I hold umbrella with careful concern 
over head of the person I love most, 
who gazes at me with astonishment 
as if they never thought I could be kind, 
then we walk awkwardly in the dark streets. 

I keep thinking about her all the time 
no matter where I am in maze of doors 
because I hope she is happy and safe 
alone of all the people in the world, 
though I hope they are safe in general terms 
while we all wait for the apocalypse. 

What revelation should we all expect, 
I wonder with obsessive nonchalance, 
except the fact that humans always form 
systems of social rights and privileges 
based on strict hierarchies of wealth and race, 
all living under the God with no face. 

She laughs when I explain with tangled words 
my convoluted theory of state power 
based on control of psychic energy 
contained in conceptual symbols of hope 
that we are not tangles of hungry genes 
which replicate themselves to dominate. 

Eating fried beef sandwiches by the lake, 
that teems with strange demonic energy, 
we chat about costumes of the elite 
who decorate themselves outrageously 
with classy style of the suave urbane clown 
when they strut before cameras of fame. 

I ask if I could be more serious 
with refined sense of cultivated style, 
but she assures me with amorous smirk 
that she loves the bold jester of my heart 
who follows Isaiah and Juvenal 
to compose scathing satires of respect. 

Resigned to fateful role of satirist, 
whose brave mimetic gestures of defiance 
highlight complex nature of being human, 
I go on pilgrimage to Aquinum 
where I strum lyre of Mercury and sing 
in Temple of Hercules Liberator.