Where I Play God
© Surazeus
2025 08 11

While watching people live their daily lives
in god-eye of the television screen,
I forget to record their names and deeds
in Book of Sorrows buried in tree roots
that nourish Tree of Knowledge with our dreams
which gleam in raindrops on its twisted limbs.

I study features of each human face
that flickers briefly on the dream-time screen
so I can understand their secret thoughts
that flash in words across mask of their soul
though polished facade of arrogant pride
fragments into sorrow of broken dreams.

Blank faces of strangers I pass each day
while walking streets in maze of numbered doors
reflect unconscious feelings of my heart
so I see in expressions they display
secret character I attempt to hide
because I feel the whole world lurch sideways.

Thus I am ready to start work again
designing artificial worlds from dreams
where puppets of real people in my head
perform their roles preserved in fairy tales
where ten thousand incarnations of Phoebus
compete to wear his golden mask of fame.

I shall lay my skeleton of moon-glass
among bright flowers of Elysium
so bees brew mushroom honey from my blood
for children of the rainbow to consume
as they transform into shadows of light
who gaze at jagged mountains in blue dusk.

Orpheus strums the lyre of Mercury
while he explains in twisting waves of verse
that if we throw the true fortunate man
into the never-ending stream of fate
he will emerge with fresh fish in his mouth
that feed nine billion people stuck on Earth.

Because too many people judge my book
based on its cover, which depicts too well
obsessive nothingness of righteous faith
that causes me to wander off the trail
and struggle in the vine-entangled field,
I fill one basket with all my dream eggs.

When I blink from tension of the long day
at fading of my autocratic brain,
the multiverse of dream-conceptual code
winks out of existence from nothingness
till my neural net recreates the world
where I play god till death erases all.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus steals the lyre of Mercury from Lucifer, then retires to run his kingdom in the fields of Elysium where people become puppets in his songs.

#Poetry #Poem #Pastoral #Necropastoral #MetaModernism #Transrealism #NewSublimity #NewRomanticism #AmericanDream #Cinemism #Existentialism #Surrealism #NegativeCapability #NewGnosticism #MetaRealism #NewTranscendentalism #Astarism