Replace Yourself With I © Surazeus 2023 09 10 I bloom into the future of my soul each time I open door of solitude and disappear into wild wind of time because I weep for loss of every mind whose dreams and memories vanish after death though I try to hear their voices in light. Alone in doorless house on moaning hill, cluttered with furniture of eyeless ghosts, I reach out shadow of my naked hand to break eternal beam of stark sunlight that weaves immortal atoms in my bones which multiply into people I know. So many bodies of flesh-tangled bones, animated by flash of leaves on trees, flow around me as I drive clumsy car clattering on unpaved road of skeletons, and give me boxes of arrogant fruit that bloom on telephone poles of lost faith. Clutching musty roots of the sad oak tree, I clamber up steep hill of powdery dust, face first in thick cobwebs of buzzing light, so I scream with horror of honest hope when the giant gold-spotted spider crawls though I try to replace myself with you. You bloom into the fortune of your soul each time you leap across the laughing stream and reappear from cave of ancient dream because you sing for birth of every mind whose visions of the world they could create mistranslate their divine voices in light. Alone in thousand-room house by Star Lake, crowded with nameless strangers seeking fame, you retract your open hand from desire to polish secret mirror of God Mind that reflects face of every mortal soul on every planet in the universe. So many robots with wire-tangled frames, programmed with memories of humans long dead, follow you on long road of pilgrimage to Mount Parnassus where demons sing spells and give you boxes of fraudulent skulls that clatter on telephone poles of fate. Typing prophecies on feather-thin scrolls, you skip down winding stairs of castle towers to stumble into cathedral of ghosts during solemn prayer to the Virgin Queen who dreams evolution in the Star Eye though you try to replace yourself with I.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Sunday, September 10, 2023
Replace Yourself With I
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