Shape Of My Hungry Flesh

Shape Of My Hungry Flesh
© Surazeus
2026 05 17

If this world of water and wind and light 
is all for me, my shadow on its hills, 
then I will write my name across the sky, 
but keep it secret that I fall from clouds 
each day I rise up from soil of its hope 
and wander among ruins of the past. 

This great tree reaching toward the faceless sky, 
that drops ripe apples in my hungry hands, 
harps brightly humming in soft gusts of wind 
because its roots curl down to core of time, 
entwining bodies my ancestors left 
when their spirits beamed back up to the stars. 

My lamentation echoes between hills 
where I rest in heat of the glowing sun 
since fire is fundamental principle 
that animates all beings with conscious life 
for we appear from strife of opposites 
to spiral through cycles of birth and death. 

This animating flame of energy 
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang 
evolves into shape of my hungry flesh 
so I sing clear with loneliness of heat 
that urges me to roam around the world 
till I know curve of every sparkling stream. 

I record elements of day and night 
through unlocalized images of time 
which conjures thunderstorm of social change 
to flash assertive rain on towns of men 
who bury sorrow under roads of wealth 
when floods erase buildings from ancient land. 

I walk the signless road of everywhere 
to visit every city in the land 
that flourishes from sea to shining sea 
so I record name and deeds of each life 
to preserve their memories after they die 
and vanish into dust on rain-drenched hills. 

Now I am dreamer of all that is lost, 
obsessed with singing tale of every soul 
who rise as generations from the sea 
in endless waves of strife to gain world fame 
at piercing cry of hope that cracks the sky, 
then sink in silence of indifferent graves. 

Ephemeral flames of bodies glow at dawn 
when our brains fuse with stones of nameless roads 
till millions who strive to survive each day 
are merged in idol of one faceless god 
who represents our spirits in weird myths 
that gleam as shadows on tree-shrouded hills.