Yet Timeless Horror © Surazeus 2024 01 09 Another hour I find myself alive with cheerful laughter of the dreary rain I gaze around me at the cluttered vale, alert for danger that could break my soul, yet no voice thunders from the eyeless sky asking where I was when the world began. Foundation of the world beneath my feet, that surges monstrous passion from the deep, solidifies from seething waves of fire four billion years before hour of my birth, yet I will rage against dying of the light while clutching hope in the meaningless night. How beautiful this world my eyes perceive, I force myself to state with hungry breath, tall trees that branch into the silver sky where birds dart swiftly on aggressive wings, yet Nature seems indifferent to my being, so I savor pleasure of being alive. I eat the apple Eve plucked from the tree that stands forever perfect as the truth to taste sweet glamor of the glowing sun while I dance slowly in cool evening breeze, yet I feel fragile as the flickering flame that writhes in stone hearth I built with my hands. Aggressive monster of demonic force glows deep within frail beating of my heart that would appear at hour of desperate need when I must defend my life from attack, yet I keep blind rage hidden in dream land to maintain dignity of normal life. This strange hour I find myself alive, safe and dry in thick walls of my home in company with the people I love, I float on divine breath of ancient faith, yet stark tranquility of peaceful fear electrocutes my brain with prophecy. Gray rain drenches Spiderwood in disdain that unnerves the owl who encodes my name with tangled memories my ancestors lived till all their knowledge programs how I think, yet timeless horror of this pretty hour radiates from center of the universe. With casual affection of petulance, which motivates my passion to survive, I attend world conference of troubadours to share techniques for recording weird tales, yet false prophets scream on the radio till their lies dissipate through apathy.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Tuesday, January 9, 2024
Yet Timeless Horror
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