Beauty Of My Changing Face

Beauty Of My Changing Face
© Surazeus
2026 09 28

Remote as starlight in eyes of the dead, 
I gather yellow apples of the sun 
to sell for copper pennies of regret 
to lonely housewives in suburban zones 
whose children reincarnate ancient gods 
while angels paint roses on temple walls. 

To dwell in pale mirage of fractured homes, 
where healthy demons wear cute human masks, 
we blink as slow as stars in river waves 
and cast strange treasures on soft satin mud, 
though death projects our spirits at black clouds 
so words we speak could conjure cosmic minds. 

Since we are atoms flashing in the void, 
we are the cosmic mind of nothingness 
that beams from countless stars of swirling gas 
till we evolve from sloshing waves of hope 
and crawl with agony of gasping breath 
on muddy shore beneath the tree of fruit. 

Thus I rise up from gravity of fate 
to stand half-steady on this wobbling world, 
and reach with dizzy confidence of lust 
to grasp sweet fruit of frantic innocence, 
then eat with laughter of the falling leaf 
that fools us with the cycle of rebirth. 

Since I am gray with sleepiness of time 
while nodding by the fireless hearth of faith, 
I watch forgotten tales in ancient books 
transform to shadows of the nameless dead 
who weep for beauty of my changing face 
though I sell sorrows to the smirking toad. 

If love has fled across the mountain range 
with urgent mission of the messenger 
who scatters letters on numberless graves, 
I wake the pilgrim soul of ardent faith 
to travel nowhere on the signless road 
till I become the house where no one dwells. 

When I was new-born child of the dead king, 
old bearded wizard of the jagged cave 
received my body from wild ocean waves, 
and taught me how to improvise bold tales 
while strumming sacred lyre of Mercury, 
but I run bank to finance struggling farms. 

Gold rays of sunlight beam through stalks of wheat 
with timeless shimmer of transcendent truth 
that fills my heart with scope-expanding awe 
so wingless angels of this wicked world 
perceive weird beauty of my changing face 
in masks of god that pulse on temple walls.