Bleeding Apples Of Hope

Bleeding Apples Of Hope
© Surazeus
2023 06 09

If bleeding apples of hope smirk at me 
with indifferent passion sprouting from mud 
I might construct safe haven of my heart 
on shattered hillside of the laughing skull 
because my living body calls up love 
as shadow rising from bright stone of truth. 

On signless road that leads past paradise 
I walk alien to myself thirty years 
to find where my grandfather dug my grave 
so I can clothe nakedness of desire 
then eat sweet pears while thinking how decay 
bewilders my fragile porcelain heart. 

Though I hide on dry banks of the blank sky 
to measure beams of fastidious light 
I talk with darkness of the falling snow 
to rise above the doorless maze of fear 
and soar ten thousand years beyond myself 
till we walk holding hands in sunlit wheat. 

When psychic sense of the soft ocean waves 
envelops me with knowledge of the breath 
I listen for the interrupted cry 
that echoes over our numberless homes 
where tools of gardeners rot in old snow 
though I try to rake misery from my heart. 

Because the thought word moves with ecstasy 
in stuttered harmony of ocean waves 
I wake in shining book of nameless ghosts, 
alarmed by psychic luminosity 
by which I reconcile with skeletons 
who dance too far away from home to care. 

We blossom in the garden of blind ghosts, 
tended by our grandmother who went mad 
escaping from cruel soldiers in the camp, 
and dances free with spirit of the child 
while gathering flowers on the hill of skulls 
so she can forget mute horror of pain. 

So though the world is ending in gray war 
we dance wild around naked flames of fire 
while Bacchus plays flute carved from dragon bone, 
followed by voiceless dancer of the moon 
who teaches us to revere living souls 
with love of those who return from the dead. 

Since unwashed shadows of the living glow 
brighter than eyes of owls in singing trees 
we gather in field of wheat by the stream 
to sing obsessive hymns of honest fear, 
lost in the hazy memories of ourselves 
till we step out of our bodies and bloom. 

When we step out of our bodies we break 
into apple blossoms swirling in wind 
across the highway where ten thousand cars 
scream with unbearable silence of God 
as spiders search for our hearts in dark rooms 
till lights flash on inside our hungry mouths. 

We drink blood of gods from polluted streams 
then camp in tattered tents behind the church 
where happy zombies pray to vampire king, 
then call angels with flaming swords of greed 
to drive the homeless from their neighborhood 
so we can eat fake apples of lost love.