Romantic Religion We Design © Surazeus 2023 01 04 We try to bridge with hope-words we invent the infinite space between our two hearts by breathing in weird spirit of our minds with wreathes of incense smoke that interlace our separate dreams into one new world view through romantic religion we design. Whenever I want to gaze in your eyes I wander in lush library of flowers to query why mute grief is what I owe to the dead because I am still alive while I wait in the absence of your being though I hear your voice whisper in the wind. Because hope is vague mirror of my heart that I hold up to analyze the past my twirling eyes are able to adjust to blurry darkness of the cricket hour while the silver moon illuminates why my heart aches with fear that you might be hurt. Running down halls in forest of despair, I search for the elusive house of wind while calling your name with voice of the crow till I find you prone of the river shore, body broken by some catastrophe that banished your soul into nothingness. Though I call on the blind stars of the sky forever in the long dark night of pain, my tears fail to spark your body with life, and my words cannot wake you from cold sleep, yet still I hold you in my trembling arms, kissing and caressing your face with hope. Pinned by shadow of death to the cold ground, I watch your body dissolve into dust that scatters in sad wind of nevermore till nothing of you is left in this world but frail skeleton of light that once glowed with glamorous beauty of your smiling face. Because I have no system to express heart-wrenching grief erupted from my heart, I see your face everywhere in the world as empty space that fills the universe with wretched swirling of indifferent waves while I keep wandering in the timeless where. Bewildered by meaningless why of death to never understand what broke your soul, I stand in vastness of indifferent nature to break at tense silence of wordless light that shatters house of wind into ripe fruit I eat while weeping because I miss you.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Wednesday, January 4, 2023
Romantic Religion We Design
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