Where My House Used To Stand © Surazeus 2023 08 12 Night shimmers dark where my house used to stand though I build bricks of memory into walls to hide sweet passion of unfulfilled love that walks in meadows blasted by steel bombs yet I clutch sorrow in my bleeding breast as I dissolve in screaming of the star. Night shimmers mute where my house used to stand though I sing elegies of twisting trees still soft as feathers falling on dead flowers since snipers shoot bright angels from blue sky yet I grind flower in abandoned mill to bake warm bread for refugees of war. Night shimmers cold where my house used to stand though I clutch prophecies of fallen birds as wordless thoughts flow from my trembling hands at twilight of despair we break with rage yet I attempt to build my house on sand when angels blow trumpets of noble war. Night shimmers void where my house used to stand though I found my world view on windless words with measured form with ruins of the clock containing memories in lost story books that children burn to erase shame of hope when bombs destroy the school where they still read. Night shimmers sad where my house used to stand though I hide solace in books never read by children who play hide and seek with Death as black planes scream across the mirror sky before invasion of angry young men who clutch burden of the gun with grim joy. Night shimmers grim where my house used to stand though I film planes when they shell my frail life to hide my sorrow in the lockless box that writhes with whimsical pattern of love yet I dare breathe ethereal soul of hope enforcing my right to live as I choose. Night shimmers stuck where my house used to stand though I forge keys from suffering of my heart to lock fake doors against invading hordes where plains are occupied by sneer of Death yet I evade nonbeing this crucial hour by drinking nectar of the weeping flower. Night shimmers weird where my house used to stand though I refuse to stop on signless road with heavy baggage of fake memories that echo wretched shivers of dead trees yet I sink smiling in dark dreamless river to become wingless angel shocked with love.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Saturday, August 12, 2023
Where My House Used To Stand
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