My Right To Still Exist

My Right To Still Exist
© Surazeus
2026 08 03

If I rename small island of my heart, 
who would decide to visit without lies 
as if time flaps electric wings of chance 
before we meet on river shore of fate 
to prove sincerity fuels all we do 
because questions never reveal our truth. 

My thoughts are not the social mess you buy 
against assertive theme statistics fool, 
since formal layout of my mission shows 
how far I have to go on fractured road 
before I could achieve my dream of wealth 
that tricks my passion to leap without faith. 

Startled by each open door of despair, 
I wander blindly over the threshold 
reserved for angels who deserve their wealth 
despite how often people they love die 
except for lonely children of the field 
who sell fake seeds of wisdom to the rich. 

This well-earned kiss of true love we may share 
fills me with bitter hope for broken hearts 
which I attempt to shield with laughing books 
too often stolen from book store of fate 
where hungry teachers hide from sudden debt 
before another king falls dead from fear. 

Disturbed by surging waves of calm disdain, 
my child reports how angels fall at dawn 
though no one hears each new word she invents 
with runes I scratch in river mud of faith 
in vain attempt to canonize beliefs 
that seem to prove my right to still exist. 

Obsessed with strictly measured flow of thoughts, 
which I confine to rapid steps of truth, 
I draw vast blueprint of this messy world 
to organize through ordered rows of words 
complex chaos of cows in dew-wet fields 
who ponder mystery of opposing codes. 

Reborn as Seraphus with thirteen eyes, 
I play another game of chess with Death 
in tower where Rapunzel cooks sweet cake 
from chocolate laughter of the lemon tree 
because my blood is maple-syrup thick 
that swirls in boundless oceans of lost words. 

I breathe the gentle breath of Zephyrus 
to fly aloft with swan of human hope 
to catch ingenious thief of surreal dreams 
who tramples on my flowered grave with pride 
while shouting how we belong to the land 
that eats our bodies when we die of love.