Her Ghostly Face © Surazeus 2023 12 17 To hang cracked mirror of her ghostly face above the mantle of the cold fireplace I stretch my arms beyond cave of my heart, calculating gear-fate of the star chart that measures length of hope to judgment day which comes not, no matter how hard I pray. The cherry tree bends in cold winter rain that gleams from loving candlelight in vain though I cut cabbage all night as I wait for my love to come home, since he is late returning from wars between castle kings, till I wake at flutter of raven wings. The black horse on horizon of my hope brings hungry death swiftly down the wet slope on hoofs that shake my heart with numb despair, eyes blinded by the early morning glare that cracks sharp as the ax against red wood of holy icons to expose falsehood. Appearing from dark woods as glowing wraith, Marzanna, dressed in long white gown of faith, head wreathed with flowers blooming in brown snow, parades slowly through the festival show to portray concept of soul purity, which townsfolk burn and drown in effigy. The timeless energy of folk witchcraft, which fearful Christians have long mocked as daft, still surges in fierce hearts of teenage girls who feel transcendent passion of star swirls empower their quest for the Holy Grail which glows in cavern of their secret vale. While riding in sleek car on Christmas Eve, past mist-shrouded meadow where angels grieve, Marianne sees black horse beneath the star that bears her heart to some strange land afar where she bakes apple pies in fire-lit room as children sing and dance in snowy gloom. Sitting on soft couch by the crackling hearth, with her large family in holiday mirth, Marianne sees on cluttered Christmas tree, gleaming with eerie light, the magic key which opens all doors in the multiverse, so she decides to become the soul nurse. Gazing from mantle of the bright fireplace, the old star-eyed witch with the ghostly face animates young girl with ambitious plan to create world savior from the caveman who perceives the real her behind her mask when he brings her juice in the fragile flask.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Sunday, December 17, 2023
Her Ghostly Face
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