Ancient Child Of Sight

Ancient Child Of Sight
© Surazeus
2026 06 04

Though ringing shadow of my faulty mind 
transforms from star to stone of silent truths, 
I hurl spear of my unblessed heart to pierce 
reluctant mirror mask that frames this world 
with tangled formulas contrived by time 
that plot how atoms weave our dreaming brains. 

Go wild with passion of the laughing crow, 
my father shouts at me with wounded heart, 
so I flap tattered wings of desperate faith 
to understand who molds me from earth clay 
till I become new heaven-ravaged bloom 
that flowers toward infinity of light. 

With shield shaped round as full moon of despair, 
I step across hot stones of silent rage 
since light erases shadow of my soul, 
though I must celebrate aggressive thirst 
when moonlight gleams from silver bones of fate 
that cannot save my soul from nothingness. 

Heart bound by gloom of silence before dawn, 
I reach pale hands to bale dark emptiness 
with flower-fragile words of timeless truth 
that flow with fluid nonchalance of water 
at strict trajectory of hammer words 
which I swing straight at adamantine fear. 

I map lost land where moon-fish slither swift 
among stiff reeds of whistling innocence 
at shock of night-eyes open in my hands 
since I am born as ancient child of sight 
trapped in fractal shell of Plutonian ice 
till I reach home in swirls of wordless snow. 

Strange feeling pierces heart of mirror ice 
at gust of wordless wind that blows and blows 
across vast shapeless field of tangled wires 
where frightened gods transform to twisted trees 
with stone feet rooted deep in jagged soil 
against brave ardor of fantastic speech. 

Gasping for ethereal breath at dawn, 
I claw hard clumps of clay out of my heart 
to capture fleeting flash of endless days 
in flame-baked jar in which I capture rain 
as water I transform to bitter wine 
by crushing grapes with calculator hands. 

No heart more wounded by shadow of fate 
than mine expands from fractured seed of faith 
at sudden tone of fraught analysis 
that sings with hoarse assertion time uncoils 
while I row coffin boat across cold lake 
to where my father hangs from tree of lies.