Asleep Over Paradise Lost © Surazeus 2022 02 07 I fall asleep over Paradise Lost, and dream I fall wingless from castle tower, then search maze of theaters for the ghost of Ophelia who clutches the last flower, so I hold her hand by the jeweled gate to curse the singing skull of starless fate. Bold soldiers of the empire with clean guns march singing with white flag of the Red Cross while silver airplanes soar past blood-red suns in brutal world war over who plays boss, but Eve leads me to garden of dead trees where blind Orpheus clutches language keys. Yet deep in labyrinth of the bleeding book I find Achilles and Odysseus sitting together by the babbling brook with computerized skull of Orpheus which calculates global economy to calibrate faith through astronomy. Alone on mountain of cold sparkling snow I climb on rugged knees of Mother Time who teaches me how to shoot with the bow, though I prefer to play the lyre and rhyme conceptual logic of parallel thoughts encoded in myths that guide astronauts. Phoenician sailor on the purple sea docks in Seattle after morning rain, then offers sharp Sword of Dido to me he stole from granddaughter of Charlemagne, because great empires rise from flames of war, masked with new names that hide their psychic core. Whether I choose Pegasus or Aethon as noble mount to ride in grand parade, I will play role as son of Apollon to marry blind daughter of the Mermaid, since Hidden Dragon is king of the world who rules unannounced by the cosmic herald. The ghost of Pallas in the White House writes laws of the jungle on its marble wall that support principles of civil rights only angels could claim before the Fall, so when Lilith finds Adam kissing Eve she screams in rage and demands they both leave. Though I wake at ringing of the church bell, long after God and Lucifer have died, I remember life in Heaven and Hell, once real cities that have been codified as timeless concepts in some ancient myth forgotten since fall of the monolith.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Monday, February 7, 2022
Asleep Over Paradise Lost
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