Sky Of Our Childhood © Surazeus 2024 01 25 If the sky of my childhood is unblue I might remember true name of the girl who waits for me by never-opened door every day when I bring her pears to eat, then we walk narrow trail in sunlit woods to tell each other stories by the pool. My memories of past days inside my head glow with ambience of eternal now, so, though you see me at this present hour, strange atmospheres of many years ago and social landscapes somewhere far away swirl around me in clouds of nevermore. I cannot walk backward on signless roads to truth of the world that is real to me decades ago that have vanished in dream, so I keep walking forward as I name each road I walk beyond the Promised Land that shimmers with ethereal hope for life. I am no Lucifer fallen from clouds, nor Jesus willing to die for your sins, nor am I Apollo strumming the lyre to enchant crowds of listeners with faith that though we die our souls will glimmer on as more than atoms swirling in the void. We are ephemeral souls of glowing breath assembled from atoms of sparkling hope by mothers who teach us how to sing truth, so, as we wander fantastic landscape of Earth that vibrates from subjective brains, we long to live forever tasting joy. Though I have wandered far across the land, strumming guitar as I sing timeless tales in road-bound towns from sea to shining sea, the girl I sat with by pool in the woods haunts me with gleam of her cerulean eyes which see nothing in her oak-shadowed grave. The dream myth of our nation in the world keeps changing as people contend for power to define narrative for what is real, and whose story is preserved or erased, yet entire history of our human tale shines light of wisdom in love songs we share. The girl and the boy who meet by the door walk together on long road of their love, then children they create follow their trail, who bury them by their pool in the woods, so they form pairs and compose their own stories since the sky of our childhood is unblue.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
No comments:
Post a Comment