Flap Of Devil Wings
© Surazeus
2025 04 09

Startled awake by flap of devil wings,
my heart slithers with photosynthesis
upward in spirals of atomic rings
which conjugates fate through analysis
deconstructing grand world view of state power
for old disheveled king who eats the flower.

Beautiful lightning that reveals my face,
masked by bone-white glamor of cold moonlight,
cracks naked mirror of terrorized grace
projecting water gush from egg of night
that scents our bodies with elegant lust
concealed in contours of the marble bust.

Undeserved blessings from thin grasping hand
free my soul from worship of loyal thieves
who scatter counterfeit coins on dry land
where prim attendants comfort none who grieves
honest adversaries jailed for contempt
through intellectual games by hope exempt.

Pragmatic mess of my recursive life,
constraining eagerness of my failed quest,
requires application of civil strife
through execution of the virtue test
involving program of routine regret
that plans to reinvent the alphabet.

Procedure to expand my consciousness
contrives spectacular display of grace
through fraught assurance of unloneliness
designed to structured code of cyberspace
which nurtures hunger of the Holy Ghost
who hosts refugees stranded on the coast.

No curfew tolls the bell of buzzing night
to glimmer darkness tinkling in our hearts
though we listen for moping owl of right,
then wander far from bower of star charts,
longing for hearths that blaze no more with hope
while we huddle on the steep rain-drenched slope.

Since all paths of glory lead to the grave,
I prefer to dwell in quaint forest home
by signless road that empires never pave,
for whether young or old I long to roam
where my heart guides my seeming random way
with book that contains memories of our play.

No pealing anthem swells our souls with pride
while Death stalks thieves in halls of government
so we build new state where Truth may abide
with Liberty in stately monument
that rings with voice of our national choir
while I play mercurial tunes on my lyre.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus lounges in the country churchyard while he writes an elegy with dragon blood on demon-skin scrolls.

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