Delicate White Saxifrage © Surazeus 2023 07 01 You are the delicate white saxifrage extending roots of love with tender words that break the rocky facade of my heart by splitting stone mask of my wounded soul so we can grow together in the wind as flowers under mirror of the moon. Though objects of material amplitude will vanish in the swirling tides of change, the Overall endures to recompose chemical patterns of conceptual forms through shifting flow of ardent particles that swirl as separate flux from hollow hope. With unreal beauty of the thought I touch I will return from where I never leave despite all possibilities to be nothing that must change with every hour still surging high in forceful attitude against the everything that never was. When I see the nothing that is not there on wingless breath long floating on cold air I sink in subtle warmth of hungry grass to kiss mask of the sun now soft as brass till song of hope disturbs my placid heart with surprise of the broken apple cart. We are still sparkles of the vast blue sky contained in flowers blooming from dead rock that vibrates softly with eternal beams swift coiling from heart of the timeless sun in solid waves of pulsing plenitude inherent deep in dream-flash of the brain. When I attain periphery of doubt too difficult to pass with subtle thought I plunge through tangled hopes for happiness abandoned on the signless road of faith because we meet beneath the apple tree that gives our souls energy to live free. Imperative for lunar miracles, based on fractured order of magnitude, our hopeless dreams for unfulfilled true love require non-bells to not announce how death dissimilates mute voice we must express before bleak sorrow crushes us to dust. If I could make sense of this psychic code that still reverberates off silent cliffs according to false symptoms of lost faith I would decide to spend eternity with you as flowers blooming from the rock that waits for meaning on the mountain slope.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
No comments:
Post a Comment