Quest for Surrealiabliss (part VI) -- Peggy's poetry fourm

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Date Posted: 12:03:52 07/01/02 Mon
Author: Tirepoet
Author Host/IP: 65.212.140.3
Subject: Quest for Surrealiabliss (part VI)

Quest for Surrealiabliss (part VI)

Fortune and her wheel controls man's wills,
affairs man unthinkingly call occupy;
it is she who arranges and rearranges
after her own inscrutable fashion, sure.
But, Chaos, rules man's vanity, canges man's stand
in tat Vanity Fair do ye dare to share
and ten does Fortune reverse her fortunes,
and then is Virtue lost to mankind true.
The universe thundered, the earth shook 'sunder;
as love for man and woman shines above.

Like Atlas, on Ida stands one to last,
the son of Nature unto eternity,
back 'wards Dawn's flame, watch and ward to the eons.
Face of fine gold, but lined by strifes' untold;
arms, breast of Peruvian silver proven
to stand times test 'twixt Heaven and Hell's quest;
then brass down to hips, fine iron were legs cast;
the right foot of kiln-clay on which time plays.
The universe thundered, the earth shook 'sunder;
his legs do rumble, but do not tumble.

As times creature, his body is by fissure
asunder cleft by the way his tears do drip;
the tears of time, which are sad Pearls of Tears;
one dolorous, the other glorious.
He gazes on the Hours, his watch never sours
of adoring the beauty of each which keeps
pace day and night in sun and starlight's grace
the abode of the fond daughters of Jove
in beauty endowed are these virgins shroud;
in even turns make, not their charges forsake.

Their every third step a tear is there meet;
slow is the dance of Time and Nature's show.
His streamlet of tears flow, slow, endless yet
to gather in a pool and there entools
within the fissure of granite indenture
to disappear and where to reappear.
Is it the dark, sad home where Chaos roams:
as Homer, Virgil, and Plato do tell;
or seen in Alberico, and Walkelin's dreams;
or as Dante, and Milton are to say?

Through these tears, and Nature's Laws he stands near
'twixt both Heaven and Hell, man's sorrows tell;
he shoulders the weight as Atlas shoulders.
His sight never blinded by sun or starlight,
gazes upon Hour's virtues through man's eons;
they be: goodness, grace's love, and holiness
which shine into Elysium all the time.
As Fortune turns her wheel, is man's fate sealed?
As Chaos' fortune and virtues were lost!
'Cause he did slight the Maker's Golden Light.

Isn't life a paradox, full of darkest strife;
where truth becomes a lie; lies becomes truths.
O Chaos, read me from yer book of deeds;
lay thee naked before me thy world to see,
the colours and wonders in the hundreds,
endless they are upon the mind's winds to play
in darkness are they, feather down in gray;
forfeits yer spiritual crown, 'comes a clown
to slight one, is too all others a slight,
who's self-interest cost his virtues' lost.
7-1-2002
Tirepoet

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