I Hear The Dead Live © Surazeus 2024 06 26 I hear the dead live in the timeless sky but, when I look up, all I see are clouds that form into their faces they once wore, so I walk on the Earth with orphan feet and cry in harmony with joyful rain that transforms me into swift bird of time. I hear the dead live on the signless road that leads far from the land where they were born, bodies buzzing with flight of honey bees, too eager for how telephone wires glow copper against the silver evening sky which fools me to think I am Heaven bound. I hear the dead live in the ocean wave, aware of sunrays in abyss of faith where carbon rings coil into eyes of love so hydrothermal vents mix chemicals to generate from tangled memories neural network that feels itself alive. I hear the dead live on the windy plain as horses racing on wings of desire beyond the far pavilions of our hearts that ring with laughter of lovers and friends who sing ballads that record quest for life which I still hear faint in the river breeze. I hear the dead live in the empty house my father built with calloused hands of hope till soldiers, paid by king in the stone tower, drive us away into the wilderness, so we attack gold walls of paradise to overthrow his monarchy of greed. I hear the dead live on the rugged trail that winds through jagged mountains of despair as they journey north to the Promised Land from jungle towns of gangsters dealing drugs across the waste land of the laughing snake to country farms where they tend cows and wheat. I hear the dead live in the open book that lies unread on dark library shelf in shining city on the hill of truth where wingless angels fight for mind control to rule temple of the many-faced god who smiles with rage on thirty silver coins. I hear the dead live on the river farm where Europa rides on white bull of pride while wielding Wand of Zambor on parade to rule vast Empire of Gothinia who leads our United Nations of Earth in world war against fascist tyranny.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus tells us where the lead live, so we follow his map to the Promised Land.
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