Brickleberry Ridge © Surazeus 2023 08 06 I think about sweet laughter of your eyes when we first meet among the apple trees where silver mist swirls over river reeds, and we hold hands as we explore the woods so many years ago now in the past, as I wander on Brickleberry Ridge. I think about Moon River flowing slow among dark hills where rainbows never glow as secret home where ghosts float in the wind that teaches me strange stories of this land about skeletons scattered on the coast, yet wait for you on Brickleberry Ridge. Startled awake at soft scream of the moon, I listen till I hear heart-aching tune of lonely soul who waits around the bend for never-coming of their secret friend, because nothing we love will ever last, though I still pray on Brickleberry Ridge. I want to play Dream Maker for the world but I get hired to play the cosmic herald who bears good news to people in the maze, gathered in Eden to worship Queen Rose who only loves fools who can pass her test, except for me on Brickleberry Ridge. Alone on signless road to Anywhere, I journey on my quest to find God Star whose eyes illuminate weird mask I wear that beams conceptual darkness much too far as I search for the tree where we first kissed to build our home on Brickleberry Ridge. Far bigger than this world on which we live my heart decides I have nothing to prove, yet I sink songless in the swirling sea to gaze with pearl eyes at the godless sky, and ponder which inspiring spell to cast, awake with faith on Brickleberry Ridge. With silent anguish on wild ocean shore I dream our evolution from God Star that glows from clock embedded in the oak with spiral sequence of genes mothers make to give us bodies in land of the lost, reborn from love on Brickleberry Ridge. While keeping watch in tower on the hill I cheer my son paint murals on the wall depicting history of humanity that highlights heroes of integrity, but when my body dissolves into frost bury my heart on Brickleberry Ridge.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Sunday, August 6, 2023
Brickleberry Ridge
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