My Vagabond Heart © Surazeus 2022 02 10 My vagabond heart refuses to wait for sorrow to transform this wretched world of random suffering from disease and war to sweet paradise where nothing goes wrong, so I escape dark maze of poetry gangs to walk in signless forests with mute owls. No conscious soul ever returns from death for, once the system of chemical functions, which generates the soul of consciousness, breaks down from disruption of the life spark, the animating soul of human thought dissipates into swirls of mindless dust. Pausing on the bridge over troubled waters, woven from rainbow sinews of despair, I gaze back at vast city maze of towers that shimmers gold in swirls of evening mist, and wonder about lives of faceless strangers doing their jobs like bees in honey hives. The giant airplane roaring among clouds, angelic wings of silver arrogance spread wide with stiff observance of blind laws, crashes into the bank in blaze of flames, erasing thousands of people from time, so brains with memories vanish to nothing. I wonder if any of those lost souls are strong enough to stand from smoking wreck and walk away from destruction of truth, people with whole lives of experience now appearing before me in their death as faceless mannequins of mindless gods. Climbing ancient stairs of dinosaur skulls, I walk through windy halls of Duino Castle to find the ghost of Orpheus by the hearth drinking wine with Seraphim in black suits, so I don leather cape Dracula gave me and carve names of the dead on granite walls. Breaking open door to the Secret Club, where laureate poets gather to gamble, the editor of the poetry journal shoots me in the back with critical praise, so I transform into the moon-eyed owl and fly in swirls with fierce Icarian wings. Falling nine days and nights from the Dream Tower, the wingless angel clutching cracked guitar falls from Heaven of the Poetry Elite to blast open cave of Hell for himself, so he sits by the fire of honest truth and sings in harmony with ocean waves.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Thursday, February 10, 2022
My Vagabond Heart
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