When Children Flee © Surazeus 2023 10 14 Lost in permanent blueness of the lake, without the name my mother wove from flowers, I study weightless strangeness of my body to understand mysterious code of love which motivates my quest to become who I see in shadow of the mirrored sky. Dark hills assemble memories of my eyes with barren harvest of the pestilence that leaves me stranded in the doorless house where I call to blind spirit of the tree who creeps on whispers to my secret space to empty my heart with sorrow of truth. Distorted tale of artificial mist explains how I must change daily routine to intervene in social genocide when blood of victims from the sacrifice fertilize desert fields with soul of love without warning of destiny to prove. Immense confusion of the shouting voice when the father leads frightened son by hand from smoking rubble of their bombed-out home explains why his mother buried in bricks will never fry cakes on the stove again though their scent is mingled with burning flesh. Material of our bodies formed from light dissolves in searing wind of arrogance expressed by voice of angels in swift bombs that soar from Heaven on wings of desire to reconstruct reality we cherish with foolish faith in justice of the Earth. We cannot unsee visions of despair when children flee from maze of ruined towers to leap across abyss of flowing waters with fearless terror of the singing bomb which redesigns our global paradigm with every searing blast of holy light. Though refugees from war on signless road kneel before Burning Bush of divine truth, they see in writhing flames of honest faith bodies of people they love blown to bits from which no Frankenstein can build new souls sewn together with stories no one shares. Immaculate field of pure snow-white sand shields nameless ghosts who cannot find the boat from screaming bombs of noble tyranny when they flee garden of the Promised Land to search for fountain of the wingless horse that springs in valley of the singing skull.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
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