Community Of Lost Ghosts © Surazeus 2024 08 02 Silver gleam over far green-shadowed hills pierces my heart with longing to see you, so I pause from my wandering nowhere to sit on fallen log in swirling mist and play sad haunting tunes on walnut flute to call your ghost from across the waste land. Lost souls cast out from their communities who wander homeless in bleak wilderness become nameless ghosts with no families who always find their way on signless road to hidden valley of the glowing cloud where I welcome them to dwell safe and free. I carve thoughts of my heart on ancient stone with runes I saw in flicker of sunlight on smooth white stones in shallow clear blue pool to record strange memories of my youth which flash as illusions before my eyes so I think ghosts of the dead haunt my heart. I want to restore my friends back to life with breath of hope I inspire from the sky so voiceless spirits coded as their names may animate their bodies with their dreams that motivate performance we express to play confounding dramas of desire. I sense the dead around me in the air though my eyes cannot perceive their firm forms so I call out their names with anguished cry that echoes in lonely woods of my heart, yet only unseen chirping birds reply, so I fill baskets with mushrooms and eggs. Descending from mountain slope of mute faith, I pause on bridge of stone my father built to listen for secrets the dead may share in careless babbling of the snow-fed stream, then return to town where nameless ghosts dwell who gather in our fire-bright hall to feast. Reposing on large chair carved with two crows, after nameless ghosts finish evening feast, I play sad haunting tunes on walnut flute that weaves sweet melody of wordless angst to bind our hearts with old religious faith of shared experience in this bitter world. Though we fight hostile forces to survive, and must scrounge for food from indifferent Earth, we work together in our secret town as nameless souls exiled from human worlds to build new community of lost ghosts who find new home with fellow refugees.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus gazes at nameless ghosts in communal feasting hall through tears of love for their suffering and courage.
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