Library Shelf Of My Heart

Library Shelf Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 08 14

When I follow John to Strawberry Fields 
forever on the signless road of faith, 
he shows me new tomb where Orpheus lies, 
so I turn on tape recorder of truth 
to record prophecies his skull decries 
which sound like whispers of the wind in leaves. 

Once I figure out secret code of gods, 
I look for John, whose wizard glasses gleam 
with television screens, to ask him why 
humans believe they are angels in flesh 
who have fallen from changeless realm of Heaven, 
and live stuck in these fragile mental forms. 

Since John is Christ in the sycamore tree, 
who waits for Homeless Prophet of Lost Faith 
to pass by on foot-worn Yellow Brick Road, 
I wander over to the grocery store 
where Walt and Allen study hieroglyphs 
carved in formulas of fate on glass doors. 

Wearing mask of Joker for Halloween, 
John gives me brand-new Cinderella dress, 
so we hold hands and knock on fear-locked doors, 
smeared with blood of the sacrificial lamb, 
then Cybele invites us in to eat 
cookies and ice cream from the Holy Grail. 

Before midnight bells toll for nameless ghosts, 
we catch the crosstown bus to Neverland 
where John learns how to shoot the blunderbuss 
before I bake four and twenty blackbirds 
in dainty dish King Richard never eats 
since he gives bread and honey to the poor. 

When John in white robe of the desert hermit 
asks me to imagine the world as one, 
no Heaven above us, no Hell below, 
I cook delicious meals of healthy hope 
at the elementary school of the brave 
who try to escape on the Ship of Fools. 

If we are not who we pretend to be, 
we can wear mask of who we want to play, 
so John writes names of the dead in his book 
he hides on library shelf of my heart 
while human empires rise and fall in waves 
of social revolutions against greed. 

When John wakes from weird dream on Penny Lane 
that he incarnates soul of Odysseus, 
he finds me selling poppies from gold tray 
because I feel as if I am in the play 
where Hamlet gives me letters of his love, 
so I gather flowers by the River Styx.