Drink Blood Of Apples © Surazeus 2023 05 28 My face has turned so white with joyful angst I disappear in marble statue core, yet leave my name, and dates of birth and death, carved into hard flesh of the universe so when I walk away from my own tomb only my voice remains as wordless wind. Though I have forgotten all I once knew I read my story in strange words I write with blood that flows with tears of hopeless love which glow as weird dramatic scenes of life on flashing television screen of truth to blind millions of people with fake news. Because my living body conjures love as screaming shadow of newspaper tales I clothe my naked mind with simple faith till I become alien to my best friends who walk shattered hillsides of scarlet trees to drink blood of apples with careless laugh. Awake in misty dimension of facts which people hide in secret treasure chests, I challenge divine doctrines of old priests who strew ancestral seeds in rancid soil so screaming warriors burst from field of dreams to dance on wooden bridge of anxiousness. With musical potency stripping lies I choose to believe unreality appearing clear around my naked soul when I rise fragile from skeleton veil to incorporate passion of weeping words poured from wild blazing wisdom of the sun. When lucid dome of Heaven forged from gold shimmers bright under green waves of innocence I sail small fishing boat of eager hope toward sacred isle that sinks in sea of eyes since I must choose the meaning of my life by writing novel no one would believe. So I dance barefoot with unfettered glee on fallen statues of rebellious kings who die alone in castles of cracked skulls since no one listens to their prophecies misconstructing strange visions of the truth which echo vacantly through eerie caves. Archaic sentiment for river towns, which I deny could poison my foul heart, disturbs that universe of fallen gods because we need no tyrants to obey, so we will vote for intelligent clowns to lead our empire from the broken throne.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Sunday, May 28, 2023
Drink Blood Of Apples
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