Understand Why I Cry © Surazeus 2024 09 16 If sweet story of my sorrow extends way past wind-blasted beach of jagged rocks, I might be able to measure how vast seethes the salt green sea of sensitive faith inside this clumsy body of my soul that lounges with insipid lust on sand. Yet stone cherub, etched on sarcophagus of my eyeless mother, calls out my name in blasting wind that beats my aching breast with passionate love for the beautiful that shimmers chartreuse in the vibrant sky beaming strange wordless fears into my eyes. Though my angel is trapped in granite idol, who watches over graves of my ancestors, she points to somewhere over the horizon where I may find strange rainbow of my joy, but I choose to stay where the singing skulls of my mothers and fathers count the stars. Fierce anguish energizes my numb heart with passion to row heavy boat of fear across sloshing waves of indifferent hope toward far shore I try to conceptualize by blowing divine breath of bitter faith against gray veil of mist that shrouds my bones. Each time I enter domain of the snake, by climbing jagged rocks as stepping stones toward heights of Heaven glowing gold with light, I imagine I am weasel of grace gliding with stealth among old apple trees to fill basket of my heart with sweet lies. Because nothing ever changes in Heaven, I leave its sun-shattered shadows in haste to row my heavy boat back to my cottage where copper mirror on the mossy wall reflects strange apparition of my soul who knows dark secrets I hide in my heart. I invite ghosts of people I once loved to my damp cottage in the roadless woods where ravens chat about philosophy while leaving purple mushrooms at my door which I brew in cauldron as honey mead and drink till the blind moon becomes my mind. Hills become green giants who stare at me with eyes that bears desert after they die so I write story of my wicked life with blood of frogs on smooth slabs of tree bark so the ravens understand why I cry because I can just never explain why.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus follows ravens to the damp cottage in the roadless woods to find Ophelia drinking mushroom honey mead.
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