Words From All The Dead © Surazeus 2024 06 04 Flat on his back under the star-gold sky, the faceless soul inside my aching heart just feels the Earth spin slowly in the void while breathing gravity of naked stone that pulls him down toward center of the globe till he disintegrates to formless words. People are killing people in cruel wars in dozens of countries around the Earth, shooting bullets and bombs from metal tubes to blast bodies of strangers into words that dissipate in silence of mute wind so roots of trees and flowers drink their blood. People have been killing people in wars more than ten thousand years of history so mortal men who build empires on skulls declare themselves gods with power of death bestowed on them by the sun in the sky that bards record in legends built of words. My heart aches, for that killing never ends, and never will for ten thousand years more, so today I want to feast with my friends while deconstructing victorious lore, then I will scatter words from all the dead so children will sprout from their dragon teeth. Rising up from heaviness of despair, the faceless soul inside my pounding heart walks solemnly in woods of ancient myths where ghost of every person killed in war waits for me to record their tale in verse, so I sing to dispel mercurial curse. Climbing ten thousand years on winding trail to Parnassian grove on Takoma Mountain, I measure this land, sea to shining sea, to draw each road, paved by bones of the dead, my fathers blazed to find the Promised Land, while I map life of every human soul. Assembling each conceptual data point in puzzle to compose our new world view, I arrange thoughts in lines of magic spells that weave complex tapestry of our tale to form oneiric matrix of the mind from atoms that pulse in words I express. Removing mask of the bard from my face, after casting protective shield of light through spirit enchantment of holy spells, I return from Heaven Realm of Ideas to wake as mortal lump of fragile flesh till I disintegrate to singing dust.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Tuesday, June 4, 2024
Words From All The Dead
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Orpheus lies on his back and sings elegy for all the people killed in every war in history.
ReplyDelete