Mothers In Caucasian Vales © Surazeus 2022 02 04 Straight through glowing light of eternal day the wingless angel falls from mindless fear into startled consciousness of the way leading her to blue lake that glitters clear, so she kneels and cups her hesitant hands then drinks cold spirit of the timeless lands. This primal memory of ancestral soul that sparkles still in neurons of my brain guides how I perform my conceptual role gathering fruit of the Earth to sustain immortal soul of genes through corporal tales designed by mothers in Caucasian vales. Five thousand generations of my mind as mothers teaching daughters how to sing, based on characters their actions defined, now animate bold progress of my wing, awake in current body of my soul when I explore Earth on my morning stroll. Immortal spirit of First Mother glows as conscious vision of my current state, so clear memory of all my mothers flows through moral values that define my fate since I choose by free will how to perform creative gestures that conflate the norm. Awake in sunlit grove of apple trees, I linger entranced by the flashing course of mountain stream that blows refreshing breeze through my hair as I watch the graceful horse graze in meadow where gold butterflies float in swirls around the oak-wood, wave-rocked boat. For forty thousand years my mothers roam from Scythia to Scotland to Oregon, forever westward from our mist-veiled home, but I cannot return to Avalon that vanished from this world centuries ago so I hang out tonight with the moon crow. The ancient desire to explore the world animates my restless quest beyond here, so I wake in this life as the mute herald who records flow of life on this dream sphere to translate visions from ethereal breath before I fall into abyss of death. No matter where I have lived on this Earth, in every fertile vale where rivers sing, I cherish every home beyond its worth symbolized by gem in my wedding ring that binds our hearts in sacred rites of love since we walk hand in hand from the sea cave.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Friday, February 4, 2022
Mothers In Caucasian Vales
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