Wanderer Of The Woods © Surazeus 2024 05 26 When weight of ages descends on my heart I sense small insignificance of the self that plays its role on stage of history till time unravels me from tapestry so my name and face are erased by Death who recycles my atoms in new beings. Clothed in wolf-skin vest, with bag and stone-axe, I stride along the sparkling river flow to hunt for cave, hollowed by wind and waves from towering cliff, as haven for rest where I may roast meat in faith-glowing hearth to feed my family with nourishing love. With resolute mastery of natural laws I build strict routine of constructive craft through self-rule of personal liberty to manage regular process of growth in cultural venue of the goat-nursed gods whose spirits in my heart guide how I live. When I was young, still eager to explore labyrinth of myths that form city maze of ambition, I strolled Clown Avenue in misty Seattle with burning heart to find the Holy Grail of soul rebirth, restless to discover role I could play. Near gray stone wall of the Greek-temple bank I saw the old man with long hair and beard whose narrow face, long nose, and silver eyes resembled gray wanderer of the woods, that ageless wizard of weird fairy tales named Odin, Merlin, Gandalf, and Zambor. Pausing amid the ever-hurrying crowd, I gazed at mirror image of my soul and wondered if that star-eyed seer could be the same Saturnus that John Keats once saw slumbering in shady sadness of his vale, quiet as the stone that flamed from the sky. Unsceptered though I roam this boundless Earth, ignoring fenced boundaries of nation-states where tyrants exploit mute factory slaves, I see face of that wizard in the mirror who gave to me, thirty-three years ago, raven-feather quill from his tattered wings. Though I seemed to wander long road of life without direction, lost in random scenes of disarrayed romance, I now realize spirit of Grannus, awake in my heart, has always guided me toward my grand goal to sing tale of human wisdom in Heaven.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus sees face of Saturnus when he gazes in the pool of Narcissus in woods of Elysium.
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