Picnics In The Glade © Surazeus 2025 02 07 If we could go on picnics in the glade by the happy river, just like we used to, we could assimilate glow of our hearts as lovers lounging in flowers of hope that wilts at untold tale of our lost pride, deserving pleasure we keep to ourselves. Though fungus clings to trunks of fallen trees along untrodden trails of mountain glades, we could commit our seasons of fresh youth to carefree wanderings far from cityscapes of relentless busyness to succeed, yet how times have changed at the fall of truth. Our wordless vanity of hope persists in fooling us that all we know as true might remain secure as foundation stone on which we built our national world view that every person breathing air of faith deserves fair chance to work with dignity. What strenuous agony of desire still urges us to fight for what is right straight against petulant aggressiveness of thieves disguised as honest patriots who insist fortune is for them alone, according to beatitudes of stones. All should inherit fertile land of faith without cumbersome shade of blinding greed, reflected clear in how the peacock struts, but many poor in spirit grasp for power where lone angels weep around human graves by selling alien merit never earned. Being born of Earth, we climb mountain trails to transcend social hierarchies of power in bid to reclaim opportunities for living safely in vast urban zones as ours with legal grounds of unproved birth, since the moon glares askance at our desires. At stark diminution of reserved fate, trapped by extent of language unexpired through amorous attention of police, we claim with bold assertion of respect green innocence of deeds ancient gods cause humans to perform with penance of rage. With curious indictment of bold deeds we decide to escape the fascist state imposed on institutions disempowered by gangs of greedy goons in business suits, and walk the signless wilderness of faith to picnic in peace in the mountain glade.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
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Friday, February 7, 2025
Picnics In The Glade
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Orpheus and Ophelia leave the city to escape the immigration police, and picnic in peace in the mountain glade while helicopters hunt for them.
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