Room Of Somethingness © Surazeus 2025 03 20 In dreamless nothing of the star-black mind I search for meaning to invent with words which I breathe from gush of the water stream that shouts loud at my face with mocking faith as I lean close to catch the darting fish so I can roast it on the crackling flame. Still dreamless in the realm of mystery, I gather fearful flowers from lush fields to untangle regret from roots of herbs that cannot clear confusion of the fog with flash of sunlight through its veil of hope that pierces my heart with anguish of faith. Twisting spines of books from aggressive trees, while I somersault bitter sea of joy, I build expanding house with countless rooms with brooding horror of the stinging rain that mocks my attempt to shelter my heart from haunted normalcy of restless wind. Stuck in perpetual wakefulness of faith, delicate eyes still dissolving to rain, I move through unconfirmed shadows of time to hide in cavern of fake innocence in nowhere rampant with sorrow denied by urgent quietude of still-locked doors. To each adjacent room of somethingness, half-stuck inside books of weird fairy tales disgusting as slime of the seaside harbor, I progress backward through stark formulas designed to calculate abundant fear collapsing in the future we abhor. Tomorrow never comes from fog of war framed by basement window of the stained heart that runs with feral attitude of pride to catch moonbeams encased in angel wings offensive to the man who claims as his everything that exists on this mud world. I hear no clocks chime hour of broken hearts at sudden intervals of falling pears despite the radio signal no one hears crackling in tangled wires of my glass brain with zealous passion for social ideals consistent with how castle walls reverse. For every door I knock on with respect ten doors are locked against kind prejudice that disabuses how horizons shape fraught ontology of cathedral hymns which children assemble from puzzle shards so I can claim I know who I should be.
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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Thursday, March 20, 2025
Room Of Somethingness
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Orpheus tries to fix the clocks of broken hearts with wires woven from shadows stuck in the room of somethingness.
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