Temple Of The Woke © Surazeus 2023 11 14 When the yellow spider of the egg pool weaves mirror of my face across the moon, I ride lame horse up winding mountain trail so I can translate riddles of the rain that confound seers of the academy who study process of epiphany. As moon girl by the well plays bird-bone flute with haunting melody of anguished hope I dig in deep cave for emerald of fate to prove existing things are bound by shape our thoughts cannot transform with alchemy though we journey with the grand company. Submerged to my eyes in ice-flowing stream with eager project to grow angel wing, I crown myself prophet in the glass dome where nameless children dance to sweet birdsong though old friends wear mask of the enemy in vain attempt to evade destiny. Each door I open with curious intent to explore our worlds through the multiverse reveals new secrets that could disenchant my heart with passion to advance on course straight enough to nullify blasphemy when I organize the lost colony. Bottomless heart flowing with joyful love that almost drowns the last confederate rake, I build simple ship to leap the wild wave on bold journey to temple of the woke where I spend dark hours writing elegy that twists sinister rules of artistry. With fatal choice of false desire I made that shakes foundation of the mountain hall I translate world history in psychic code which programs my brain to play humble role in world drama that leaves no legacy beyond basic functions of chemistry. Too complex for their simple minds to grasp, my proverbs, tangled in spells I construct from fractured gems, reflect eyes of the wisp who believes nothing beyond basic fact that matter incorporates chemically in forms that change through art of devilry. Arriving at temple of the wise goat, well hidden in lush grove of apple trees, I teach my children how to build the boat on which we sail with gusting ocean breeze to measure death through state of entropy as truth I preach with honest zealotry.
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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