My Name Is Lazarus © Surazeus 2024 08 06 Though I chant loud as rain, "Let there be light," nothing appears when I open my eyes, so I reach out my hand in nothingness and cry softly, "My name is Lazarus," at sudden gleam of despair in black skies that beams strange world of color in my sight. I float so long in darkness of grim night I fear that I have died and disappeared, but harsh tune vibrates from lash of my tongue contrary to psalm the river had sung at sunset hour of horror when I smeared my face with mud to seek transcendent flight. Though my life is vague and inaccurate compared to role the world messiah plays, I wonder if dawn star will resurrect my rotten body crippled by defect, so in my mind I draw map of the maze where I search for the sacred amulet. I feel my loathsome body dissipate as pulsing form of bones and flesh dissolves from slashing lacerations of false hope till I become ache of the mountain slope entangled in code no blind angel solves, arrogant enough to choose my own fate. Awake in freezing darkness by the gate that locks my spirit out of paradise, I wait for Jesus to open my grave, after he walks across the frozen wave, and give me grail of blood to pay the price, but no one arrives to alter my state. If my angel wings cannot bear the weight of bitter sorrow that could fuel my drive to climb high mountain peak of bleeding stars, then I must construct time-machine cars in quest for truth that makes me feel alive because my free spirit becomes the bait. Nobody but me should pay my soul debt when gloom of error in the cave of faith translates my body to conceptual form of Jupiter who controls psychic storm, for I embody passion of the wraith as first-born son of Princess Baphomet. When gleam of dawn evokes the ethernet world of material forms appears from gloom so I breathe deep ethereal soul of truth, inspired to play role of messiah sleuth as we seek how to save the Earth from doom that spells ideas through the alphabet.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus lies awake in cave of error till hope resurrects is soul from conceptual death.
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