Huge Car Factory © Surazeus 2024 07 07 The endless beauty of the distant sea whose song reverberates inside my skull dispels bleak sorrow of the treeless land where steel factories with huge dragon jaws devour thick bodies of young working men whose skulls are cobblestones of nameless streets. Mute terror of the morning cloud contracts sight of the windy steppes in drifting sway that confines petrified men in gray hills who tear mountains apart with bleeding hands while searching for ghost of the father who dreams in mud under wheels of the war tank. Poets and philosophers shovel coal to stoke chugging organs of the machine fragile as the spiderweb wet with dew that fairies gather to brew honey tea among heaps of bottles and rotting boards in courtyard of the huge car factory. Deadened clatter of hammers in the shop as beardless dwarves mold tools from secret gold haunts the fisherman on lake of dead fish who hangs shoes from the concentration camp on telephone lines of the fractured road where children play in the deepening dusk. Awakened in dark land of oily streams where the sun never rises over hills of sullen ghosts who steal our names from books, we gaze in golden amber of her eyes when goddess of the pristine lake returns to scatter apple seeds in parking lots. If withered leaves fall with lingering descent to cover lifeless garden with frail hope, we will search for vale of our solitude to dig black coal from cavern of the dead where Persephone grips my throat and sneers at my desire to convert fear to wealth. I carry my free will in fractured box while running in mirror of changeless pain to catch wavering reflections of souls who clutch dishonest books of ancient truth, too eager to obey the glowing cloud that always seems to be watching us live. Suffused with brilliance of naked despair, archaic torso of Apollo laughs at how I keep striving to change my life since I keep walking against bitter wind to cross all borders imposed by the gun so I can watch fireworks flashing the mind.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus assembles piston engines in the huge car factory near the abandoned concentration camp.
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