We Have No Wings © Surazeus 2023 12 20 With orange-red laughter of the mindless sky I ponder reason for the thoughtful why that drives my progress in the rugged hills to search for apple trees by sparkling rills beyond heart-aching hunger of the mind that passion of my ancestors designed. You stand beside me in bright pouring rain to share compassion of our glowing pain as we transform from stones to human beings reluctant to accept we have no wings, so we must walk the Earth with breath of hope from careful balance on the mountain slope. Strange primal memories of the long ago, programmed by wisdom learned from wordless woe, frame how my present brain perceives this world through holy mission of the cosmic herald which I proclaim with flowing of the stream that mirrors weird patience of the sunbeam. I walk around truth of the mountain peak ten thousand times before I learn to speak with voice of wind that rumbles from my breast as I attempt to map fate of my quest which lures me to invent houses with doors containing concepts bound in language spores. So long before I build cities and roads my truth is forest ponds with singing toads who teach me wisdom of the faceless tree from which my words derive the arcane key which opens rotten door to castle tower where I first learn how to exercise power. Too far above the bustling market street, where I observe organic fertile beat of human hearts trapped in romantic plays still taking place in ever-shifting maze, I long for hero on the shining horse to liberate the world with gentle force. Yet no messiah flies down from the clouds to hover beaming over cheering crowds, so I manipulate lost souls with faith by conjuring shadow-whispers of the wraith till I reign over spider web of spies who bring me puzzle pieces of small lies. As dungeon master of the kingdom game, who reigns without cruel terror of the name, I watch the empire I created burn to ashes preserved in the silent urn depicting me as woman without crown who falls with Icarus in the sea to drown.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Wednesday, December 20, 2023
We Have No Wings
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