Book Of Wind © Surazeus 2019 03 17 When I find the Book of Wind in my heart that teaches me language of the strange sea I will build emptiness from broken part that might assemble my soul from the tree which spirals from my naked mind at dawn when we sing secret legends on your lawn. So many people struggle to survive in wretched labyrinth of hostile desire that they must find clever ways to contrive pleasure from passion as lilies from mire though I will care for you no matter what even when the eyeless angel is caught. We gather after sunset on my yacht to dance in starlight and drink bitter wine since you vote for me to play the mascot that represents the prophet most divine who calculates how atoms pulse with light as I on tangled wings explore through flight. Entwined in memories of our secret kiss, I enshrine your soul in statue of gold, yet when I see my face in vast abyss of nothingness I wake from death, paroled to wander waste land of the laughing fool who builds empire with invisible tool. Within blooming Marigold of my brain, that spirals petals to mimic the sun, I remember name I designed from rain to articulate strange power of the gun when last angel in the world wears my face to replicate my soul through polymerase. No trace of anguish left from searing fear gashes horror of truth through my eyeball so I shift engine of my heart in gear to search for treasure in paradise wall of sacred scroll with secret of rebirth when gene coils record soul of Mother Earth. Descended from weird River God of Faith, I gesture secret spell with ring of hands which proves I am son of the Glowing Wraith who appoints me to cartograph strange lands so I compose cosmic map of our world that reveals where Dragon of Truth lies curled. On turning wagon wheels of sacred quest I travel swift beyond town-walled frontier to build lost paradise in secret nest where I wear laurels as your balladeer till I crown myself seer of the strange sea so I can write spells in the Book of Wind.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Sunday, March 17, 2019
Book Of Wind
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