Her Bombed-Out Home © Surazeus 2023 10 20 Forever evening of green eerie glow erasing sorrow from soft pristine snow enwraps my heart in foil of willow lace at mirror-flash of moonless raven face so I remember why my spirit beams in singing trees by clock-clandestine streams. Beyond exquisite touch of our lost kiss my heart still radiates flowers of stark bliss despite how awkwardly I fumble lines at mute seduction of our eglantines that coil around our bones in grave of faith with each explosion from eyes of the wraith. Not soon enough for breezes to quell hope when I pause paralyzed on shadowed slope at heart-enchanting cry from fractured ground extending soft wail through Mercury sound that chills my soul with bright epiphany more vast than words trapped by infinity. So I reach out my curious hand to touch elusive beauty of your far-too-much that blinds my mind with leap of liberty based on radioactive divinity assembling puzzle I create from me at lightning laughter of the doorless key. Though relative to noble arrogance, deceived by riddle of strange evidence, I code experience I would soon forget bewitching quirky sprites without regret who creep with smirks in fluid evening grass to whisper proverbs of atomic mass. If I join ritual of the waterfall in mirror-masking maze of ghostly call I might find treasure of the weeping book composed by daughter of the castle cook who draws my picture with blood of the ghost on plate of snake eggs for the hungry host. Young girl in tattered dress of bitter truth, who will be mother of messiah sleuth, waits in gray rubble of her bombed-out home, innocent heart pure as the honeycomb, while rockets casting red glare on her face reorganize concept of the safe space. Melodious wails of children maimed by bombs translate our horror to religious psalms we sing while marching to protest cruel war our hearts suppress in lessons of folk lore when Phoebus soothes our hearts with haunting lyre that releases Caliban from the mire.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Friday, October 20, 2023
Her Bombed-Out Home
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